UC-NRLF 


IDS 


COPYRIGHT, 

BY     H.    P.    M'KNIGHT, 

A.    O.     1896. 


^PR/SON  POETRY,** 


.BY' 


H.  P.  MCKNIGHT. 

a 


/N  LEISURE  MOMENTS  CAST  A  LOOK 
UPON  THE  PAGES  OF  THIS  BOOK; 
AND  IF  YOUR  THOUGHTS  THEY  SHOULD  ENGAGE, 
JUST  THINK  OF  ME  WHO  WROTE  THIS  PAGE. 
AND  IF  BY  CHANCE,  IN  YOUR  TIME  OF  LEISURE, 
YOU,  IN  THESE  PAGES,  SHOULD  FIND  PLEASURE, 
THEN  DART  YOUR  MIND  UP  TO  THIS  CELL, 
FOR  HERE  I  LIVE  IN  AN  EARTHLY  HELL. 


f^ 


DEDICATION. 


(io  forth,  thou  little  volume, 

I  leave  thee  to  thy  fate! 
To  those  who  read  thee  faithfully 

Thv  leaves  I  dedicate. 


But  if  your  fate  should  be  so  sad 
As  mine  \vho  thee  have  writ. 

I'd  be  so  vexed  to  think  that  I 
Had  made  such  a  poor  "•  hit." 


But  if  by  chance  you  meet  a  friend 
Alon<r  life's  road  so  dreary. 

Just  cheer  his  mind  till  he  is  blind. 
And  never  make  him  \vearv. 


Teach  him  the  way,  the  li ve-lon<r  day. 

To  lend  a  helping  hand, 
And  never  turn  or  even  spurn 

Those  wrecked  on  life's  hard  strand, 


It  chance  should  be  you  returu  to  me. 

AlonjjT  with  harvest's  golden. 
I'll  vouch  for  thee  to  all  who  see. 

That  thou  wilt  not  embolden. 


And  now  <ro  forth,  thou  little  book. 

I  leave  thee  to  thy  fate  ! 
To  those  who  read  thee  faithfully 

Thv  leaver  I  dedicate. 


M222593 


PREFACE 


In  the  preparation  of  the  verses  that  till  these  pa  .ires  I  have 
been  helped  by  some  of  the  prisoners  of  this  institution.  The 
donors  have  been  somewhat  few,  for  \\hich  I  return  thanks: 
but  each  and  every  verse  is  a  fair  representation  of  the 
many  phases  that  the  mind  of  a  prisoner  passes  through,  and  of 
his  true  sentiment.  Those  that  have  been  donated  by  my  fellow 
prisoners  are  accredited  to  them  by  either  their  name  or  serial 
number.  Some  of  the  verses  have  been  published  in  our  prison 
"  NK\VS,"  but  inasmuch  as  they  ha\e  reached  only  an  incon- 
siderable few  outside  the  prison  walls,  I  prepare  this  litttle 
volume  and  hand  it  to  the  wide,  wide  world.  My  motto,  in  so 
doiny,  is: 

May  you  who  enjoy  the  blrs-ino-s  of  liberty  and  worldly  free- 
dom, partake  with  us  of  our  solitary  musings,  and  enjoy  our 
noblest  thoughts  and  resolutions,  as  well  as  for  us  to  enjoy 
yours;  and  that  you  may  know  that  we  are  not  devoid  of  true, 
manly,  noble  principle  simply  because  we  are  cast  some  justly, 
others  unjustly — into  prison. 

May  we  exchange  street  i  nj/s  with  you  all  -*hake-  and  if  by 
chance  I  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  interest  you,  I  am  well 
compensated;  but  if  I  have  been  more  fortunate,  and  <jiven  you — 
even  one  of  you — a  line  of  noble,  yrood  thoughts  and  advice — I 
say.  -May  the  seed  fall  on  <rood  ground  and  hriiijr  forth  yood 
fruit;  may  it  not  be  wasted  upon  barren  rock."  In  my  work  on 
"Crime  and  Criminals"1  many  of  th'  will  appear  in  the 

"Appendix."  Very   truly  yours, 

H.  P.  McKNKiHT, 

A.  1).  1X%.  O.  P..  Columbus.  ().,  T.  S.  A. 


INTRODUCTION. 


True  models  of  poetic  art. 

Should  please  the  ear  and  touch  the  heart ; 

Stamp  on  the  plastic  mind  of  youth 

Due  reverence  for  Eternal  Truth. 

Paint  field  and  flower  in  nature's  hues. 

Give  to  the  world  the  heart's  best  news. 

Or,  lightly  tripping  o'er  the  pajjfe, 

Rejuvenate  the  blood  of  a«re. 

The  sacred  Muse  should  ne'er  descend. 

Vice  to  £ruild,  nor  wound  a  friend. 

Heaven  iravc  no  man  poetic  art, 

Save  to  improve  the  human  heart. 


You  may  not  find,  in  coming  pajje. 
The  ripened  wisdom  of  the  aj»v; 
Vet  you  u'ill  tind.  inn  rained  by  art, 
The  deathless  music  of  thf  heart; 
And  truth  shall  caress  each  flaminir  line. 
Inspired  by  The  Tuneful  Nine: 
No  fear  of  man  nor  jjreed  of  praise 
Shall  make  or  mar  our  tuneful  lays: 
We  simply  voice  the  ripest  thought 
Of  prisoned  souls  with  meaning  fraught. 
Yours  it  is  to  praise  or  blame 
My  effort  to  drserv«-  a  name-! 


CONTENTS. 


Acrostic  to  Warden  and  Mrs.  Coffin, 

Acrostic  to  Chaplain  and  Mrs.  Wintret. 

Acrostic    Initial), 

Acrostic  to  Capt.  J.  C.  Lan«rtMil>erjrer,  - 

Acrostic  to  Dr.  H.  R.  Parker. 

Acrostic  to  Harry  Smith,  - 

A  tribute  to  Capt.  (reo.  W.  Hess. 

A   Letter  From   Home, 

A   Memorial  Ode, 

A  Prisoner's  Thanksgiving1, 

A  Prisoner's   Lamentation.    - 

A  Prayer  For  Justice, 

A    Prison    Vision, 

A    (Juery,    . 

A   Sad   Warning, 

An    Appreciated    Friend, 

Be  Lenient    to  the   Krrant   One. - 

Birthday  Musings. 

Cominif  In  and  (iointr  Out. 

Conclusion. 

Dreams. 

1C  1  la  Ree's   Revenue. 

Erratic  Musings  of  rnfi'ttered   Thouyht. 

Foryet  ?     No,   Never!     - 

Freedom, 

(iod    Bless  Them. 

(iuilt's  Oueries  and  Truth's  Replies.  - 

Hope,      - 

Hope — Eternity.  - 

How  To  Be   Happy   In   Prison,    -  T 

In  Prison. - 

Influence, 

Judjre  Not  Lest  Ye  Be   Judged, 

Kindness, 

Lines  To  My  Cell, 

Lines  To  My    Wife. 


PAGE. 

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CONTENTS. 


Love's  Victim, 

Lust  Nig-ht  In  the  Dung-eon, 

Midnig-ht  Musings, 

Mother, 

My  Lawyer, 

My  Moth«r,    - 

My   Prison  Garden, 

Our  Board  of   Managers,  - 

One  and  a  Few,  - 

Out  of   I  lie  Depths   - 

Prison  Pains, 

Prisoners,  - 

Perfect   Peace, 

Reflections, 

Rhyme  and  Reason, 

Stray  Thoughts, 

Salome's  Reveng-e, 

She   Lo\-es   Me    Yet,  - 

Soul  Sculpture,  - 

The  Storms  of  Life, 

The   Prisoner  Released,     - 

The  Convict's   Prayer. 

The  Great  "Oi  P."*  - 

The  Fall  of    Sodom, 

Canto  Second, 
There  Is  No  Death. 
The   Murderer's   Dream,     - 
The   Prisoner's  Mother, 
The  Reformer, 
The  Under  Dog1, 
The  Phantom  Boat, 
To  A  Departed  Idol, 
Tribute  to  Dr.  G.  A.  Tliarp, 
Tribute  to- the  Wolfe  Sisters,      - 
Tribute  to  the   Wolfe  Sisters, 
Tribute  to  Capt.  Joseph   Smith   Achesoti, 
Tribute  to  Capt.  L.  H.  Wells, 
The  Mind's  the  Standard  of  the   Man, 
The.  Author's   Farewell,     - 
Two  Letters, 

Weight  and  Immortality  of    Words.    - 
Which  Loved  Her  Best. 
Wine   vs.  Water, 
Would   They   Know,      - 


By 

McKnight 

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"  Mrs.  Wirick 

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PRELUDE 


If  3'ou  prefer  the  sounding'  line, 
Go  read  some  master  of  the  Nine! 
Good  taste  perhaps  3-011  will  display; 
Let  others  read  ni3"  simple  Ia3* 
That  g-ushes  from  an  honest  heart 
Unawed  b\-  fear,  unstrained  b3'  art. 
I  ne'er  will  prostitute  ni3r  Muse 
The  rich  to  praise,  nor  poor  abuse; 
But  simply  sing-  as  best  I  can 
Whatever  ma.y  bless  my  fellow  man; 
I  dare  not  stain  a  single  pag-e 
With  outbursts  of  unreasoning-  rag-e, 
But  if  one  sorrow  I  can  soothe 
Or  one  his  rug-g-ed  pathway  smooth; 
One  pain  relieve,  one  jo3~  impart, 
'Twill  ease  the  burden  of  a  heart 
That  has  known  for  wearj'  3'ears 
No  solace  save  unbidden  tears. 
Hard  is  the  heart  that  will  refuse 
Due  merit  to  the  Prison  Muse. 
Ma3'  heaven  watch  the  prisoner's  weal 
And  mankind  for  his  sorrow  feel! 


PRISON    POETRY. 

My  PRISON  GARDEN. 


In  this  mind's  garden  thoughts  shall  grow, 
And  in  their  freshness  bud  and  blow; 
Thoughts  to  which  love  has  beaut}-  lent 
And  memories  sweet  of  sentiment. 
Now,  if  I  cultivate  them  right  good, 
Thej-'ll  furnish  me  with  my  mind's  food. 
My  enemies  may  my  corpus  hail, 
While  onward,  upward,  thoughts  will  sail 
To  realms  above,  where  all  is  peace, 
And  where  the  soul  maj-  rest  with  ease. 


RHYME  AND  REASON. 


In  contravention  of  the  laws  of  right, 
Man's  cruel  passion  and  his  guilty  might, 
Has  bound  me  tightU'  with  a  galling  chain 
Of  heaped-up  malice  and  unjust  disdain! 
From  front  rank  lawyer  to  a  felon's  cell, 
Through  perjured  villians,  not  by  sin  I  fell! 
By  fiat  law  my  body  was  consigned 
To  this  grim  cell  for  guilty  ones  designed. 
Yet  I'm  no  convict — I  have  never  known 
The  deep  remorse  by  guilty  wretches  shown! 
I  am  a  martj-r — doomed  by  adverse  fate 
To  brave  the  billows  of  malicious  hate ! 
Yet  I  am  free,  for  Nature's  august  plan 
Makes  MIND  not  matter  constitute  the  MAN. 

Tho'  men  ma}-  curse  me  and  cast  out  my  name, 

Like  some  vile  bauble  on  the  sea  of  shame; 

Brand  me  as  murderer  or  catiff  thief, 

Or  atheistic  infidel — steepid  in  unbelief; 

Foe  to  all  that's  pure  and  good — wretch  unfit  to  live; 

Outlaw  whom  no  honest  man  can  even  pity  give! 

Yet  my  soul  will  still  defy  3'our  prison  bolts  and  bars, 


12  PRISON    POETRY. 

And  soaring  far  on  eager  wings  beyond  the  faintest  stars. 

Live  in  a  world  to  you  unknown,  where  only  poet  soul 

Can  bask  in  beauty  undefiled  by  cankering  control! 

In  vain  is  all  your  hate  and  scorn — vain  your  prison  blight: 

God  loves  me,  and  I  feel  assured  that  all  will  yet  be  right! 

I  know  one  law— a  perfect  law,  by  Nature's  self  designed— 

'Tis  Heaven's  dearest  gift  to  man — The  Freedom  of  the  Mind 


If  minds  and  hearts  were  easy  read  as  faces  we  can  see, 
Society  would  lose  its  dread  and  many  a  prisoner  free! 
But  what,  alas!  do  people  care  what's  in  another's  brain  ? 
They  only  seek  to  hide  their  share  of  misery  and  pain. 
Were  all  compelled  to  truthful  be  and  show  their  inner  life — 
Great  heavens!  what  a  jamboree  of  sin  and  shame  and  strife! 
How  few  would  measure  half  a  span  if  Mind  alone  we  closely 

scan ! 

Where  is  the  man  on  this  broad  earth,  so  pure,  so  good,  so  true. 
That  never  gave  an  action  birth  he  dared  not  bring  to  view? 
The  Christ  alone  was  sinless  here,  none  other  lives  aright: 
All  human  goodness  springs  from  fear  of  death's  approaching 

night! 

There  is  no  soul  so  white  I  know  but  what  temptation's  power 
Its  purity  can  overthrow  and  all  its  good  deflower! 

Disguise  the  truth  as  best  we  can,  he  errs  the  most  who  most 

is  Man  ! 


Come,  let  us  take  a  journey,  with  cathode  rays  supplied, 

And  view  the  greatest  and  good  in  all  their  pomp  and  pride! 

Examine  first  the  churches,  where  the  godly  crew 

Teach  poor  erring  mortals  what  is  best  to  do. 

They  tell  us  human  nature  is  once  and  always  wrong, 

And  prove  man's  deep  depravity  in  sermon  or  by  song. 

All  natural  passion  is  denounced  as  deep  and  deadly  sin, 

And  truth  and  virtue  painted  as  graces  hard  to  win. 

Heaven,  they  tell  us,  is  a  place  with  blisses  running  o'er: 

Hell,  a  lake  of  torture,  where  fiery  billows  roar! 

A  choice  eternal  all  must  make  between  their  birth  and  death: 

It  may  be  made  in  early  life  or  with  expiring  breath! 

But  how  this  choice  must  be  made  each  gives  a  separate  plan. 

That  clearly  proves  how  narrow  is  the  erring  mind  of  Man. 


PRISON     POETRY.  13 

One  tells  us  naught  but  good  pursue,  all  evil  to  eschew; 

Another  swears  without  God's  grace  no  mortal  thus  can  do; 

One  bids  us  work  salvation  out  with  trembling  and  with  fear, 

Another  swears  that  God's  elect  should  never  shed  a  tear; 

One  says  all  must  live  the  life  Jesus  lived  on  earth, 

Another  says  it  can't  be  done  without  a  Second  Birth! 

Some  say  ruork,  others  trust,  others  stil  say  -wait ; 

Some  deem  us  mere  automatons,  saved  or  lost  by  Fate  ! 

Some,  with  philanthropic  views,  declare  all  must  be  saved, 

Since  Christ,  the  Perfect  Offering  for  all,  death's  horrors  braved! 

Since  Christians  never  will  agree,  'tis  best  that  every  man 

Should  listen  to  his  conscience,  and  do  the  best  he  can! 

God  ever  has  and  will  do  right!     In  His  Eternal  Plan 

The  time  will  come  to  set  aright  the  numerous  wrongs  of  Man! 

See  yonder's  pompous  deacon,  with  diamonds  clear  and  bright; 

He  looks  a  model  Christian — just  turn  on  him  3'our  light. 

Great  heavens!  what  a  medley  of  cant  and  sin  and  shame! 

If  the  half  we  see  was  ever  told  'twould  ruin  his  good  name! 

But  turn  on  yonder  pastor  your  strange,  mysterious  light; 

I  know  he  is  a  real  good  man,  who  loves  Eternal  Right. 

Ye  holy  saints,  protect  us!  he  too  has  gone  amiss! 

When  Siren  Voice  allured  him  with  a  seductive  kiss! 

If  half  the  prayers  we  utter  be  not  a  sounding  lie, 

It  is  but  little  marvel  that  we  are  doomed  to  die! 

For  each  will  plead  forgiveness  for  thought  or  action  done, 

And  none  by  spotless  merit  eternal  bliss  hath  won. 

Then  gently  judge  3Tour  fellow,  his  failings  lightly  scan; 

Like  you,  he  can  not  corner  all  the  brains  of  man ! 

See,  yonder  is  our  Congress,  where  wits  and  fools  unite, 

To  declare  by  the  nation's  statute  what  is  fundamental  right! 

They  yell  of  patriotism  and  the  majesty  of  Law, 

And  are  for  once  unanimous — their  salaries  to  draw! 

Alas!  alas!  'tis  ever  thus  within  our  halls  of  State; 

Sweet  Justice  is  blacklisted — the  dollar  is  too  great. 

Aye,  even  on  judicial  bench,  where  justice  should  be  done, 

How  scattering  are  the  cases  where  Right  the  victory  won! 

Lawyers,  judge  and  jury  exparte  view  the  case — 

An  angel  would  be  ruined  in  the  defendant's  place! 

In  vain  is  protestation,  in  vain  a  blameless  life; 

Some  must  be  doomed  to  prison  when  prejudice  is  rife! 

Law  must  keep  its  servants  in  stations  high  and  proud, 

Tho'  every  hour  should  furnish  a  coffin  and  a  shroud  ! 


14  PRISON     POETRY. 

The  modern  Shylock  of  todaj*,  unlike  his  friend  of  old, 

Demands  the  pound  of  quivering-  flesh  and  all  his  victim's  gold 

Nor  feels  content  until  he  sees  his  victim's  hated  face 

Behind  a  wall  of  rock  and  steel  in  garments  of  disgrace. 

Then  he  will  raise  his  dainty  hands  and  loud  applaud  the  law 

That  can  protect  such  beings,  who  live  without  a  flaw. 

He  has  no  pity  for  the  weak,  who  thro'  temptation  fall, 

But  freely  spends  his  time  and  means  the  guileless  to  enthrall. 

He  heaps  his  mig-hty  wrath  and  scorn  on  every  evil  done, 

And  speaks  in  tones  of  pure  disgust  of  poverty's  pale  son. 

But  if  3'ou  bid  him  look  within  and  study  his  own  heart, 

He  has  a  task  herculean — 'tis  such  a  tiny  part! 

And  as  for  Mind — ye  angels!  in  fair  creation's  plan 

'Twas  Driven  to  his  victim,  and  left  him  half  a  man  ! 

The  modern  Clytemnestra  no  dagger  needs  to  use; 

She  slays  her  agememnon  within  your  legal  pews. 

Since  judges  now  are  willing-  to  sunder  marriage  ties, 

And  juries  are  so  truculent  when  blushing  beaut}-  lies. 

Or  if  she  be  a  Helen,  and  Paris  suits  her  taste. 

She  hastes  without  compunction  to  lay  her  honor  waste. 

"  Society  "  allows  her  to  have  "a  special  friend," 

And  a  husband  is  so  hand}-  her  good  name  to  defend! 

But  alas!  Aspasia  no  mercy  need  expect; 

Her  Pericles  lionized,  but  none  her  worth  detect! 

And  as  for  poor  Thargelia  none  will  take  her  part; 

She  lives  a  social  outcast,  with  broken,  bleeding  heart; 

But  each  base  seducer,  in  our  social  plan. 

Makes  poor,  trusting  woman  bear  the  sins  of  Man  ! 

Many  men  are  now  misjudged,  and  meet  an  awful  fate, 

Whose  innocence  is  published,  but  alas,  it  is  too  late! 

Man}-,  too,  are  breathing  freedom's  precious  air 

Whose  vile  conduct  merits  prison  dress  and  fare. 

Onl}-  little  rascals  in  your  prisons  die, 

While  stupendous  villians  liberty  can  buy  I 

Each  one  strives  with  fervor  his  neighbor  to  outshine, 

And  he  who  has  the  most  of  gold  is  reckoned  half  divine. 

You  scatter  dark  temptations  around  the  poor  man's  path, 

And  when  he  falls  yon  pour  on  him  a H  your  vicious  wrath. 

Poverty-  in  public  lives  all  her  deeds  are  seen; 

Wealth  can  build  a  castle  her  wickedness  to  screen. 

Yet  nianj*  a  noble  woman  and  kingl}*  man  is  found 

As  toilers  in  3*our  factories  or  tillers  of  the  ground! 


PRISON    POETRY.  15 

If  cathode  rays  were  freely  used  to  bring1  to  human  sight 
The  dirty  methods  villians  use  to  down  Eternal  Rig-ht, 
Many  men  would  be  set  free  and  others  take  their  place 
Who  now  can  roll  in  luxury  and  laugh  at  their  disgrace. 
A  judge  and  jury  now  can  sit  and  hang  a  man  at  will, 
But  they  say  'tis  open  murder  if  but  one  dares  kill ! 
Take  a  ring1  of  brass  and  plate  it  o'er  with  gold, 
And  'tis  only  business  when  the  fraud  is  sold ! 
Adulterate  both  food  and  drink,  deal  in  deadly  pills; 
Law  will  aid  your  robbery  and  collect  your  bills! 
Give  to  your  profession  but  a  sounding  name, 
Then  cut  up  the  devil  without  fear  or  shame. 
Be  sure  to  call  it  business  whatever  you  may  do, 
And  if  you  have  sufficient  gall  that  will  pull  you  through. 

Now  throughout  this  prison  rays  cathodal  dart, 

And  read  the  hidden  secrets  of  each  convict  heart. 

Some  have  wrought  vile  deeds,  and  wrought  them  o'er  and  o'er, 

That  surely  proves  them  rotten  to  their  inmost  core. 

And  here  are  wretched  fiends,  who  with  consumate.art, 

Ravish  every  instinct  of  the  human  heart. 

Some  men  of  wit  and  letters,  cultured  and  refined, 

Others  moral  lepers,  with  heart  and  conscience  blind. 

From  drawing  room  and  brothel,  farm  and  city  slum, 

Some  by  acts  of  justice,  some  through  perjury  come; 

The  innocent  and  guilty,  callow  youth  and  age, 

All  can  be  imprisoned  in  this  Christian  age! 

But  they  who  seek  for  liberty  no  innocence  must  plead — 

Gold,  and  plenty  of  it,  will  be  all  they  need. 

Some  young  souls  are  making,  for  a  stated  time, 

This,  their  maiden  effort,  on  the  sea  of  crime. 

Oh,  Christians,  teach  them  early  what  to  me  is  plain; 

Crime  ever  has  and  ever  will  result  in  lasting  pain. 

Do  not  be  too  lenient,  nor  too  soon  forgive, 

Lest  all  vice  should  flourish  and  no  virtue  live. 

Society  demands  it,  the  guilty  should  atone — 

But  take  care  you  punish  those,  and  those  alone ! 

Keep  them  in  your  prisons  till  by  virtue  shown 

They  will  know  what  is  and  what  is  not  their  own. 

But  let  all  be  careful  lest  by  word  or  act 

Those  who  should  reform  them  from  their  good  subtract. 

Rule  them  wisely,  gently — by  some  humane  plan, 

All  their  faults  to  conquer  as  best  becomes  a  MAN. 


!6  PRISON     POETRY. 

When  3-our  work  is  finished  and  their  habits  chang-ed, 

Give  them  honest  labor,  b}*  the  State  arranged; 

Show  them  honest  labor  can  a  living-  grain, 

While  the  social  outcast  harvests  want  and  shame ! 

Treat  them  fairly,  kindly;  teach  them  all  the  true 

Will  be  friendly  with  them  while  the  right  they  do. 

Both  principle  and  policy  declare  this  course  is  wise; 

Then  why  longer  act  the  fool  and  wisdom's  voice  despise? 

Crime  never  can  nor  will  decrease  until  in  H'"isdom's  School 

Men  learn  the  noted  lesson,  "  Right  through  Law  should  Rule." 

All  tried  plans  are  failures,  this  none  dares  deny; 

Now  give  Common  Sense  a  show  and  failure  dare  defy. 

Do  this^  and  lash  and  pistol,  now  your  sole  defense. 

Shall  give  place  to  Reason  and  plain  Common  Sense! 

Courts  are  far  too  careless  when  they  give  men  life 

For  offense  unnoticed  save  in  time  of  strife. 

Naught  but  some  poor  chicken  or  a  ham  he  stole — 

Shall  the  devil  purchase  at  such  price  a  soul  ? 

If  such  pett)-  crimes  as  this  deserve  such  prison  fare, 

Come  now,  honest  reader,  what  is  your  just  share? 

Was  that  old  Greek  right,  who,  tho'  a  man  of  si-use. 

Could  meet  out  death  to  all  for  each  small  offense  ? 

Appl3*  his  heartless  rule,  and  can  you  truly  say 

Any  man  or  woman  would  be  left  to  slay  ? 

Man  is  only  mortal,  and  to  sin  is  prone; 

Never  cure  another's  faults  till  you  quit  your  own. 

Many  are  convicted  by  the  press  at  large: 

The  Public  Mind  is  rarely  Heaven's  peculiar  charge. 

Bring-  the  judg-e  and  jury  who  declared  my  fate 

For  the  shining-  dollars  furnished  them  by  hate, 

And  their  g-uilty  conscience  by  my  own  arrang-e, 

And  then  tell  me  frankly  if  my  fate  should  chang-e ! 

Yet  I  had  sooner  die  behind  these  bars  of  steel 

Than  to  have  a  heart  of  stone  that  could  not  feel ! 

I  know  such  human  tigers,  who  fatten  on  distress, 

Never  can  and  never  will  enjoy  one  hour  of  rest! 

Until  all  hate  and  malice,  all  greed  and  other  sin 

Is  burned  by  awful  torture  to  leave  them  pure  within! 

God  will  forgive  each  penitent  whate'er  his  sin  ma3'  be, 

Whose  heart  is  overflowing1  with  love  for  bond  and  free. 

Oh  listen!  brothers,  listen — 'tis  Jehovah's  plan — 

And  a  time  is  fixed  to  right  the  wrong's  of  Man. 


PRISON  POETRY.  17 

FREEDOM. 


How  sweet  thou  art,  O  freedom, 

To  every  human  heart — 
Man's  privilege  most  sacred, 

His  being's  noblest  part. 
Thou  priceless,  great  possession, 

Without  thee  life  were  done ! 
Its  sun  gone  down  forever, 

For  thou  and  life  are  one. 

How  dear  thou  art,  O  freedom — 

Our  birthright  here  below! 
Chief  blessing  of  all  blessings 

Kind  heaven  doth  bestow. 
Deprived  by  dark  misfortune 

Of  every  other  joy. 
Naught  while  thou  still  remainest 

Can  happiness  destroy. 

But  thou,  O  prison  penance, 
Dark  shadow  by  life's  board! 

Of  all  that  men  hold  mournful 
Thou  art  the  fullest  stored. 

There's  naught  on  earth  worth  having 
If 't  must  be  shared  with  thee— 

O  happy,  holy  freedom! 

O  heaven,  set  me  free. 


l8  PRISON     POETRY. 

GOD  BLESS  THEM! 


God  bless  the  mothers  of  this  land! 

They  are  so  good  and  true; 
And  all  the  sisters  of  their  band, 

They  are  so  noble,  too. 
If  we  don't  treat  them  with  respect, 

And  court  their  wholesome  'fluence. 
Our  morals  will  not  be  correct, 

And  we  will  suffer  hence. 


If  women  are  not  treated  with  respect,  and  made  to  exercise 
an  influence  over  the  social  world,  the  standard  of  private  virtue 
and  public  opinion  will  be  lowered,  and  the  morals  of  men  will 
suffer. 


FORGET?   No,  NEVER! 


There  are  things  well  not  remember, 

And  much  will  be  forgot, 
As  in  the  bleak  December 

When  our  coffee  was  not  hot; 
When  the  butter  was  much  younger, 

When  the  bread  was  sour  and  dry; 
When  are  felt  the  patios  of  hunger, 

With  regrets  and  many  a  sigh. 
How  the  memory  used  to  vex  us 

As  'twould  o'er  our  senses  steal; 
How  we  wished  they  might  "annex  "  us, 

So  we'd  get  one  good  square  meal. 
Other  things  may  be  forgot 

In  this  bus3r,  hustling  age, 
But  one  thing  we  ne'er  can  blot 

From  off  our  memory's  page, 
That  we  never  can  forget 

In  a  hundred  months  of  Junes; 
It  will  long  our  memories  fret — 

Those  prunes— those  rotten,  luorniy  prunes. 


PRISON   POETRY.  19 

MOTHER. 


BY   OVERSTREET. 

Who  is  it,  in  this  life  so  drear, 
That  pines  for  the  wandering-  bo3', 

And  ever  ready  with  words  of  cheer 
To  turn  sad  thoughts  to  joy  ? 
Mother. 

Who  is  it,  when  all  others  do  forsake. 

And  leave  us  to  our  grief, 
That  will  for  long-  hours  lie  awake 

And  pray  for  our  relief  ? 
Mother. 

Who  is  it,  when  the  world  laug-hs  on 
And  g-ives  our  sighs  no  thought, 

That  thinks  of  the  boy  who  looks  upon 
This  life  that's  come  to  naught? 
Mother. 

Who  is  it,  when  from  prison  freed — 
The  boy  goes  forth  so  sadly— 

That  receives  him  in  his  hour  of  need 
With  tears  of  joy— yea,  gladly  ? 
Mother. 

Who  is  it,  when  the  end  has  come, 

Ivooks  fondly  on  her  child, 
And  pra3^s  to  God  for  a  happy  home 

For  the  boy  that's  been  so  wild  ? 
Mother. 


2o  PRISON     POETRY. 

A  PRISONER'S   THANKSGIVING. 


What  if  the  gold  of  the  corn  lands 

Is  faded  to  somber  .ere}-  ? 
And  what  if  the  down  of  the  thistle 

Is  ripened  and  scattered  awa}-? 
There's  a  crowning-  g-olden  harvest, 

There's  turke\*  the  heart  to  cheer, 
There's  a  basket  from  home  with  plerit}-  of  "  pone,' 

Tho'  'tis  bathed  in  a  mother's  tear. 

What  'f  our  friends  are  far  from  us 

And  they  know  not  where  we  are? 
What  if  those  who  are  dearest 

Live  ever  awaj*  so  far? 
There's  room  for  us  by  th'  fireside, 

Where  in  childhood  days  we'd  play; 
%Tis  comfort  to  think,  tho'  we  stand  on  the  brink, 

That  we  will  be  there  some  day. 

What  if  our  hearts  are  lonel}- 

As  we  toil  in  our  enemy's  hand  ? 
What  if  our  sad  looks  betray  us 

As  we  take  a  true  manly  stand? 
There's  a  coming  g-olden  harvest, 

There's  a  time  when  we  all  '11  meet, 
When  prison  locks  and  iron  bars 

Will  fail  to  ther  pris'n'r  keep. 

What  care  we  for  the  pang-  at  heart? 

'Twill  all  be  g-one  some  day; 
And  then  tho'  our  enemies  "Id  crush  us, 
The_v'll  be  scattered  far  away. 

Tho"  this  is  a  sad  Thanksg-ivinir, 
A  better  one's  coming-  our  way, 

When  we'll  all  be  home  to  share  in  the  '"  pone  " 
And  hear  our  ang-eled  sister  pray. 

What  if  the  g-old  of  the  corn  lands 

Is  faded  to  somber  grey  ? 
And  what  if  the  down  of  the  thistle 

Is  ripened  and  scattered 


PRISON     POETRY.  21 

Away  to  the  east  in  a  far  off  land 

There's  turkey  the  heart  to  cheer, 
Where  the  dear  ones  are  partaking 

And  thinking-  of  one  that's  here: 
There's  father  and  mother  and  sister  and  brother,  all  so  far  away. 

There's  a  blessed  time  a-coming-— 
The  prisoner's  Thanksg-iving-  day. 


HOPE-— ETERNITY. 


The  heart  bowed  down  with  silent  grief, 

Despair  its  portals  soon  assails. 
Oh!  let  such  moments  be  but  brief 

When  spirit  lost  o'er  man  prevails; 
Think  not  of  friend  who,  false,  betra3'ed, 

Nor  sweetheart's  chang-e,  nor  colder  wife  - 
Recall  those  oaths  when  passion  prayed 

For  veng-eance  and  for  foeman's  life. 

We  pass  dear  friends  but  once  this  way; 

Our  judg-e,  accusers  and  our  foe, 
If  false  to  God  and  man  the}-  play, 

Not  thou,  but  they,  shall  suffer  woe. 
All  sta3-  is  short;  the  long-est  span 

Counts  less  than  raindrops  in  the  sea. 
Arouse thee,  then,  despairing-  man, 

And  hail  with  hope — Eternity! 

Glows  in  th\-  cell  a  fragrant  bloom, 

Plucked  from  th}-  g-uardian  angel's  wreath, 
Do  thou  but  nurture  it  with  prayer 

And  water  it  with  tears  of  faith, 
To  humble  hearts  its  petals  ope. 

Revealing-  bliss  to  streaming  63-6 — 
Immortal  blooms  this  rose  of  hope, 

God's  flower  of  life— Eternit}-. 


22  PRISON    POETRY. 

THE    PRISONER'S    MOTHER. 


BY    MRS.    S.    E.   WIKICK. 


To  be  a  prisoner's  mother 

Is  to  feel  a  piercing-  dart 
That  sets  the  mind  a-whirling- 

And  almost  cleaves  the  heart. 

To  be  a  prisoner's  mother 

Is,  upon  a  holida3', 
To  visit  him  in  prison, 

Then  part  and  go  away. 

To  be  a  prisoner's  mother 
'Tis,  inside  the  lonely  wall, 

To  say,  "Farewell,  my  darling  "  — 
Oh,  I  almost  faint  and  fall. 

No  resting-  place  but  heaven, 
No  happ3"  morn  that  dawns; 

Our  home  so  drear  and  lonely 
Because  our  boy  is  g-one. 

An  empty  bed,  a  missing-  plate, 
A  grief  that  inward  burns; 

No  balm  on  earth  to  heal  our  hearts 
Until  our  boy  returns. 

Honor  and  shame  from  no  condition  rise; 
Act  well  j-our  part,  there  all  the  honor  lies. 


PRISON    POETRY.  23 

How  To  BE  HAPPY  IN  PRISON. 


BY  NO.  22700. 

Do  what  is  right,  and  day  by  day 
Teach  yourself  that  work  is  play 
Of  brain  and  muscle,  rightly  used— 
And  hurtful  only  when  abused; 
Deep  interest  take  in  all  you  do; 
"Twill  others  please,  as  well  as  you. 

Relieve  a  fellow  prisoner's  need; 

Righteous  counsel  always  heed; 

Be  not  suspicious  or  unjust — 

Few  men  betray  a  perfect  trust; 

He  trusts  the  most  whose  heart  is  pure, 

And  generous  thought  will  malice  cure. 

Brood  not  o'er  the  ills  of  life; 
Give  no  cause  for  needless  strife; 
Tomb  the  past  with  all  its  sin; 
Purify  yourself  within; 
Rear  your  standard,  be  a  MAN, 
And  do  whatever  good  you  can. 

Some,  perhaps,  will  misconstrue 
All  you  say  and  all  you  do, 
But  when  conscience  is  at  rest 
Happiness  will  fill  the  breast — 
'Twill  be  a  sweet  red-letter  day 
When  we  all  shall  act  that  way. 


24  PRISON    POETRY. 

IN  PRISON. 


BY    HAKKISON. 

That  which  the  world  miscals  a  jail 

A  private  closet  is  to  me; 
Whilst  a  good  conscience  is  my  bail, 

And  innocence  my  liberty: 
Locks,  bars  and  solitude  together  met 
Make  me  no  prisoner,  but  an  anchoret. 

I,  whilst  I  wisht  to  be  retired, 
Into  this  private  room  was  turned, 

As  if  their  wisdoms  had  conspired 
The  salamander  should  be  burned; 

Or,  like  those  sophists  that  would  drown  a  lish. 

I  am  constrained  to  suffer  what  I  wish. 

These  manacles  upon  my  arm 

I  as  my  mistress'  favors  wear; 
And  for  to  keep  my  ankles  warm 

I  have  some  iron  shackles  there: 
These  walls  are  but  my  garrison;  this  cell, 
Which  men  call  jail,  doth  prove  my  citadel. 

I'm  in  the  cabinet  lockt  up, 

L<5ke  some  high-prized  margarite, 
Or,  like  the  Great  Mogul  or  Pope, 

Am  cloistered  up  from  public  sight: 
Retiredness  is  a  piece  of  majesty, 
And  thus,  proud  Sultan,  I'm  as  great  as  thee. 


PRISON   POETRY.  25 

ERRATIC  MUSINGS  OF  UNFETTERED  THOUGHT. 


[BY   GEO.  W.    H.    HAKRISON.J 


Is  living-  thought,  proud  condor  of  the  mind. 

By  walls  of  rock  and  iron  bars  confined, 

Innate  divinity  by  human  courts  enslaved, 

And  rig-ht  eternal  b3r  a  dust-worm  braved? 

Think  you  the  spirit's  rapid  flig-ht  to  mar 

With  dungeon  torture  and  by  iron  bar? 

Can  rock-ribbed  walls  and  bars  of  steel 

Deprive  man  of  the  power  to  feel? 

Can  3'ou  the  stream  of  Lethe  roll 

In  maddening-  torrents  o'er  the  soul, 

Pluck  from  m_v  brow  love's  g-arland  fair 

And  brand  me  "Victim  of  despair?" 

No!  weakling- son  of  veng-ef ul  fate, 

God  g-rants  to  none  a  power  so  great. 

M>-  body  is  >Tour  lawful  prey, 

Poor  lump  of  spirit-crumbling-  clay; 

Seize,  chain  and  manacle  each  part, 

Aye.  even  starve  my  bleeding"  heart. 

But  know  that  for  Creative  Thoug-ht 

All  fetters  by  one's  self  is  wrong-lit. 

Mind,  g-lorious  Mind — Jehovah's  sleepless  breath, 

Can  know  no  bondag-e  and  can  feel  no  death. 

In  yon  fair  reg-ions  of  unreached  repose 

Eternal  Beautj^'s  flower-chalice  g-lows, 

Filled  to  the  brim  with  satisfying-  wine, 

Ambrosial  nectar  of  the  Tuneful  Nine. 

My  muse  can  reach  it  on  external  witig-s 

And  drink  till  all  the  heart  within  me  sing's! 

I  scale  the  lofty  heig-hts,  by  virtue  shown, 

And  from  Eternal  Wisdom  seek  my  own. 

There,  far  above  the  struggling-  world  of  fate, 

I  greet  true  freedom  and  am  wisely  great. 

'Tis  mine  in  brig-tit  elysian  fields  to  roam, 

Pluck  jeweled  treasure  from  the  sleeping-  g-nome; 

Bid  ocean  deeps  their  mysteries  reveal, 

Or,  soaring-  far  above  the  world  of  space, 

Gain  raptured  visions  of  the  Holy  Place; 

Admire  and  measure  every  g-littering-  throne, 


26  PRISON     POETRY. 

Count  heavenly  treasure  as  my  own. 

Make  auirust  angels  bow  beneath  my  rod, 

And  even  dare  to  mould  the  mind  of  God; 

O  radiant  fields  of  pure,  uiitrammeled  Thought, 

With  what  sweet  incense  are  thy  zephyrs  fraught: 

How  clear  the  view,  from  thy  exalted  height, 

Of  human  errors  and  unerring  rig-ht; 

"Tis  thou  alone  my  baboring-  Mus»>  ran  teach 

The  perfect  measure  of  her  powers  to  reach; 

She  cons  these  fragments  of  a  Truth  sublime, 

And  art  stands  ready  with  appropriate  rhyme 

To  trim  each  sentence  and  each  word  to  place 

In  melting-  numbers  of  seductive  grace; 

Since  first  Jehovah,  bending-  low  to  earth, 

Breathed  in  man's  nostrils  an  eternal  birth, 

The  rain  drop  falling-,  from  the  heavy  cloud, 

In  waiting-  dust,  finds  ready  shroud. 

And  there,  comming-ling-  fills  each  separate  cell. 

Vet  still  remains  as  pure  as  when  it  fell: 

To  man  appearing-  but  a  dampened  clod, 

'Tis  chambered  favor  of  a  gracious  (iod; 

And  serves  his  purpose  till  He  calls  above 

This  liquid  semblance  of  Immortal  Love, 

There  not  to  perish,  but  return  ag-ain 

To  deck  the  forest  and  adorn  the  plain: 

All  nature  feels  its  fructifying-  power 

In  laug-hing-  streamlets  and  in  nodding-  Hower: 

The  rain  drop  typifies  the  Pure  Indwelling-  (iod. 

That  permeates  our  being-,  to  animate  a  clod: 

(Jive  birth  to  all  emotion,  consistent  with  His  plan. 

And  with  unmeasured  tenderness  weep  the  fall  of  man. 

From  every  nodding-  flower,  from  every  whispering-  bree/e 

From  mountain's  Ioft3r  heig-ht,  from  towering-  tr 

From  softlj"  twinkling-  star,  from  lig-htning-'s  g-iddy  flash, 

From  the  softest  twitter  of  a  bird  and  thunder's  awful  crash. 

From  hills  the  ants  may  call  their  own, 

From  crested  elders  'round  their  throne, 

From  babbling-  brook,  from  storm-lashed  wave. 

From  nature  smiling-,  nature  grave, 

From  earth  and  air,  from  sky  and  sea, 

There  conies  the  self  same  voice  to  me, 

Like  softest  note  of  cooing-  dove, 

And  sweetly  whispers,  "  GOD  is  LOVK." 


PRISON     POETRY.  27 

All  nature  is  obedient  to  heaven's  aug-ust  plan, 
And  none  will  dare  rebellion,  save  ever-erring-  man. 
He,  of  a  dual  nature— purity  and  lust- 
Defies  his  Great  Creator  and  thus  betrays  his  trust. 
Thrones  within  his  being-  the  hydra-headed  sin. 
All  his  joy  to  murder  and  create  he.il  within  ,- 
Self-conscienceness  completes  the  triple  blow 
While  memories  of  happier  3~ears  augments  his  hapless  woe. 
Whatever  then  of  pleasure  his  wounded  spirit  knows 
From  the  fountain  of  bitter  repentence  it  onward,  onward  flows, 
His  own  environment,  be  it  either  fair  or  fell, 
Must  now  embower  his  heaven,  or  will  create  his  hell. 
Contentment,  peace,  or  pleasure  he  must  create  anew 
I>y  sowing1  seeds  of  virtue  where  vice  so  lately  grew. 
He  learns  he  must  not  do  whatever  man  can  do. 
Hut  recog-nize  the  limits  of  the  just  and  true. 
Law  is  his  Alma  mater,  the  measure  of  his  rig-lit, 
The  barrier  Jehovah  set  to  curb  irreverent  flig-ht; 
He  has  the  truest  liberty  who  recognizes  law; 
"Tis  made  to  shield  his  virtues  and  on  his  vices  war; 
He  who  denies  humanity  lives  for  himself  alone 
All  histor%-  to  hush,  all  culture  to  disown; 
And  quickly  he  relapses  into  a  barbarous  state, 
Where  onl3T  force  and  prowess  can  make  the  unit  great. 
None  so  lost  to  virtue^  none  so  devoid  of  art, 
As  lie  who  fails  to  capture  the  etnpire  of  a  heart ; 
He  who  knows  not  sympathy  feels  no  fellow's  woe. 
Will  never  feel  the  rapture  of  happiness  below; 
(rod  planted  seeds  of  pity  in  every  human  breast. 
And  he  who  loses  most  of  woe  secures  most  of  rest; 
Love  is  man's  all,  his  conqueror,  his  cordial  and  win*-, 
The  measure  of  his  inner  life  that  stamps  him  as  divine. 
How  circumscribed  the  circle  God  allots  to  man. 
His  home  is  but  an  acre,  his  life  is  but  a  span; 
And  yet  within  that  circle  his  influence  is  so  great 
He  wakes  the  cooing-  notes  of  love,  or  feeds  the  fires  of  hate; 
His  influence  is  potential  within  a  circle  small, 
But  beyond  the  limit  of  the  same  he  does  no  g-ood  at  all; 
All  thoug-ht,  all  power  with  which  our  being"  teems. 
Is  action  predicated  on  events  or  on  dreams. 
All  we  have  seen  or  heard,  all  we  now  can  feel, 
Leaves  an  imprint  on  the  heart  that  the  future  must  reveal ; 
The  vain  are  truly  loneU",  they  long-  to  be  admired, 


28  PRISON     POETRY. 

One  wishes  to  be  understood,  another  well  attired. 

This  hushed  by  useless  long-ing-s  or  fashion's  chang-ing  art. 

That  sweetest  of  all  poems,  the  music  of  the  heart. 

But  he  who  solves  life's  mystery  is  never  quite  alone, 

All  ag-es  is  his  playground  and  .solitude  his  throne; 

He  walks  in  subtle  converse  with  all  the  mighty  dead. 

(•rathe ring-  priceless  jewels  their  wit  or  wisdom  bred. 

The  \vatchto\vers  of  his  thong- lit  o'erlooks  the  strug-gTmgr  ma> 

While  events  both  past  and  present  before  his  vision  pass. 

He  sees  the  weary  captive  tug-g-ing-  at  his  chain: 

The  weather-beaten  sailor  ploug-h  the  rag-ing  main: 

The  swarthy  burden  bearer  in  forest,  mine  and  field; 

The  merchant's  soiled  ledgers,  the  soldier's  bra/en  shield: 

The  child  with  glittering  toy,  the  maiden  at  her  glass; 

The  ruler  of  an  empire,  the  leader  of  the  ma>s; 

The  student  in  his  study,  the  priest  on  bended  knee; 

The  teacher  with  his  ferrule,  the  ag-ed  human  tree. 

All  fondly  dream  of  freedom,  yet  all  beneath  the  ban. 

Each  in  a  separate  prison  presided  o'er  by  man  ; 

Sees  nature  and  morality  are  ever  \vag-ing  war. 

The  first  as  god  of  freedom,  the  latter  lord  of  law. 

Sees  culture-  raise  her  barriers  between  polite  and  rude. 

And  hears  Religion  thunder.  "Cover  up  the  nude  !" 

Knows  man  in  every  station  to  be  a  willing  slave. 

The  football  of  his  passion,  the  dupe  of  every  knave. 

Yet  hears  him  boast  his  freedom,  laud  his  reasoning  power; 

Rule  all  he  can  with  iron  hand,  and  finite  judgment  shower; 

Sees  all  the  devious,  hidden  paths  by  sinful  mortals  trod 

Where  liuman.  law  and  custom  dare  ostracise  a  god; 

Yet  knows  a  gvrm  of  g-oodness,  deep  in  the  human  breast, 

Is  living-  in  the  worst  of  men  however  much  depressed. 

Knows  life  is  but  the  unit  of  God's  Eternal  Plan, 

And  learns  to///)',  not  to  blame,  poor  ever-erring-  man  ! 

In  each  created  atom  sees  faultless  beauty  glow 

And  God's  Eternal  purpose  in  onward  sequence  flow. 

Views  all  souls  as  living-  harps,  whose  seeming-  dissonance 

Is  but  apparent  and  not  real;  and  believes,  perchance, 

God  will  mend  each  shattered  chord,  tune  the  quivering-  lyre. 

And  from  out  each  soul  shall  bringr  a  music  sweeter,  hig-her 

Than  earthly  ears  have  ever  heard  or  earthly  lips  essayed; 

Such  music  as  the  ransomed  sing-  in  innocence  arra}Ted; 

While  all  the  universe  entranced  shall  wondering-  inquire: 

"Is  this  the  fruitag-e  of  His  woe?    Is  this  his  soul's  desire? 


PRISON    POETRY. 

Is  this  the  harp  so  late  unstrung-?    Is  this  poor  fallen  man? 
Ah  !  can  it  be  that  all  was  wrought  obedient  to  God's  plan  ? 

Nature  will  o'er  matter  bear  imperial  sway, 

And  all  not  immortal  must  in  time  decay; 

Man's  tenement  is  mortal,  but  himself  divine; 

Which  should  he  most  cherish,  the  jewel  or  its  shrine? 

Yet  when  vice  allures  him  with  seductive  ray, 

Gives  he  not  to  passion  undisputed  sway  ? 

Dreams  he  not  of  beauty  who,  with  open  arms, 

Calls  for  lust  to  enter  and  revel  'mid  her  charms? 

Is  his  eye  not  captive?     Do  not  his  senses  thrill? 

What  is  left  the  tempted  one  save  his  feeble  will  ? 

If  that  will  prove  recreant  to  Jehovah's  trust, 

Pays  he  not  the  penalty  in  self-consuming-  lust? 

Must  his  spirit  suffer  through  unending-  years 

For  the  shame  he  purchased  with  agonizing  tears? 

Life  is  but  a  shoe-broom,  Nature  is  God's  book 

And  he's  the  aptest  scholar  who  all  her  laws  can  brook! 

If  love  of  rig-ht  was  constant  man  could  well  defy 

All  of  sin's  allurements  and  unspotted  die! 

One  such  man  has  lived  who,  with  a  faith  sublime, 

Crucified  the  temple  where  he  dwelt  in  time, 

And  entered  heaven  victorious  without  the  aid  of  grace, 

The  marvel  of  all  centuries,  the  Savior  of  the  race; 

But  had  His  will  but  weakened,  Jesus,  too,  had  fell, 

And  man  without  Redemption  sank  tottering-  into  hell; 

All  would  be  good  did  not  true  g-oodness  claim 

Such  earnest  noble  effort  from  a  will  so  tame; 

Crime  is  but  a  sequence  of  misguided  will 

Inherent  moral  defect  and  surrounding  ill. 

Man's  innate  love  of  beauty  and  his  dread  of  pain, 

His  ever  rag-ing-  thirst  for  power  and  his  greed  for  gain 

Alternately  do  swaj"  him  with  resistless  power, 

The  spotless  blossoms  of  the  soul,  until  he  only  yearns 

For  the  ever  hideous  lust  that  blackens  as  it  burns. 

Guilt  comes  not,  thundering  on  the  wings  of  time, 

With  vice-distorted  feature  and  the  leer  of  crime, 

But  like  enchanting  vision  from  a  pagan  dream, 

Or  softl}-  echoed  cadence  of  a  whispering  stream, 

She  steals  upon  us  gently,  with  ever-changing  art, 

And  usurps  an  empire — the  waiting  human  heart! 

Her  outward  form  is  beauty,  her  voice  with  Passion  tense, 


29 


30  PRISON    POETRY. 

She  only  craves  the  privilege  to  gratif}-  each  sense: 

All  apparent  pleasures  'round  her  path  are  spread. 

But,  alas!  you  seize  the  flower  to  find  its  fragrance  fled: 

But  still  pursuing,  row  with  bated  breath, 

You  clasp  her  to  your  bosom  and— embrace  a  death! 

Then,  conscience  stricken,  you  the  wreck  survey, 

And  with  shuddering  horrow — humbly  kneel  to  pray: 

While  the  pitying  angels  on  their  pinions  bear 

The  ever  sacred  burden  of  repentant  prayer, 

And  almighty  love  descending  reasserts  control. 

And  mercy  in  the  guise  of  grace  has  won  a  human  son/ ; 

But  contrast  a  moment,  with  this  heavenU-  plan. 

The  awful  brutal  conduct  of  exacting  MAN. 

See  yon  martial  champion  riding  on  the  flood 

Of  a  frightful  carnage  and  a  sea  of  blood; 

His  path  is  strewn  with  many  a  ghastly  sight. 

Dead  and  dismembered  bodies  and  defenseless  fright! 

Yet  all  the  people  with  a  loud  acclaim 

Pronounce  him  "  Hero,"  and  accord  him  Fame! 

True,  he  butchers  thousands  in  a  cruel  war, 

Yet  you  deem  him  guiltless,  he  obeyed  your  law. 

But  if  your  angered  brother  slay  a  single  man, 

///;;/  you  brand  a  "  Murderer,"  worthy  of  your  ban  : 

And  with  zeal  unbounded  you  wage  relentless  war 

Until  he  falls,  a  victim  to  rage-created  law. 

As  if  a  useless  murderer,  sanctioned  by  the  state. 

Was  less  the  fruitage  of  revenge  than  one  new-born  of  hale: 

Perchance  in  some  fair  aiden,  some  far  distant  sphere 

Your  poor  hapless  victim  these  just  words  may  hear: 

"Thou  art  now  forgiven,  poor  misguided  son! 

"  Tho'  tranced  with  dire  passion  thou  hast  slain  but  one. 

"  Thou  hast  made  atonement,  breathed  a  fiery  breath 

"  Of  a  deep  repentance  and  an  awful  death  ! 

"  Place  on  him  the  raiment — whiter  far  than  snow. 

"  And  teach-bis  untried  lips  to  sing  the  song  the  angels  know 

"  But  as  to  yonder  soldier  who  for  the  bauble  fame 

"Led  unbattled  thousands  without  fear  or  shame; 

"  And  with  banners  flj-ing  to  the  bugle's  chime 

"  Hurled  obedient  legions  into  conscious  crime — 

"  All  the  tears  he  showed,  all  the  blood  he  shed, 

"Now  in  molten  fire  shall  circle  'round  his  head, 

"  And  all  shall  learn  the  lesson,  that  horror-breeding  war 

"  Will  never  meet  the  sanction  of  Jehovah's  law!" 


PRISON    POETRY. 


This  is  no  fane}-  picture,  nor  idle  dream  of  youth, 
But,  if  I  know  the  laws  of  God,  it  is  the  solemn  truth. 

Behold  a  homeless  wanderer,  poor  and  thinly  clad, 

To  biting-  cold  a  victim,  with  hung-er  almost  mad, 

Entering-  yonder  mansion,  dares  to  boldly  steal 

What  none  should  e'er  deny  a  dog- — the  pittance  of  a  meal! 

See  the  greedy  sleuth-hounds  of  the  outrag-ed  law 

Wag-e  ag-ainst  this  robber  an  unrelenting-  war; 

While  Christian  judg-e  and  jury,  with  ready  wit,  declare 

His  crime  an  awful  outrag-e,  that  merits  prison  fare! 

But  he  who  rears  his  costly  domes 

O'er  wreck  and  ruin  of  human  homes, 

Plants  in  the  breast  a  rag-ing-  thirst 

And  leaves  his  victims  doubly  cursed, 

Can  roll  in  Iuxur3r,  loll  in  pride 

And,  with  the  law,  his  gain  divide! 

Tho'  ever}-  dime  he  pays  the  state 

A  thousand  cost  in  wakened  hate! 

A  simple  youth  by  passion  lured, 

And  of  but  little  wisdom  steward, 

Meets  with  a  maid  of  witching1  grace 

And  dalliance  ends  in  dire  disgrace! 

In  prison  stripes  you  teach  the  fool 

That  he  must  love  by  human  rule! 

Yet  you  rear  great,  costly  piles 

Where  soiled  doves  may  ply  their  wiles 

And  lead  to  an  unhallowed  bed 

The  lustful  brute  you  lately  wed. 

If  passion  will  assert  her  power 

None  shall  dare  a  maid  deflower 

Unless  so  licensed  by  the  state 

In  wedlock's  bonds  his  lust  to  sate! 

And,  if  marriag-e  prove  a  bane, 

Divorce,  for  cash,  will  ease  his  pain  ! 

Then  to  your  haunts  of  sin  he  hies 

And  laws  of  God  and  man  defies 

By  casting1,  in  a  barren  sea, 

The  g-erm  of  life  that  is  to  be ! 

'Tis  true  this  evil  you  decry— 

And  raise  your  taxes  mountain  hig-h! 

As  if  the  more  the  state  shall  g-ain 


32  PRISON     POETRY. 

The  less  will  virtue  feel  the  strain  I—- 
You legalize  divorce  and  fraud, 
And  each  successful  scoundrel  laud, 
Unmindful  tho'  he  gain  his  wealth 
By  open  plunder  or  by  stealth. 
In  vain  his  hapless  victims  cry, 
His  gold  can  legal  silence  buy! 
But  if  through  stress  of  penury's  strife 
One  makes  a  shipwreck  of  his  life. 
You  prisons  build  and  place  within 
This  fruitage  of  a  law-made  sin, 
To  linger  till  the  cowering  slave 
Shall  fill — unwept — a  pauper's  grave. 
And  scarce  a  line  of  obscure  print 
At  this  dark  tragedy  will  hint; 
But  if  your  millioned  puppy  dies 
What  waitings  rend  the  astonished  skies! 
What  sabled  hue  and  lengthened  train 
Attest  your  deep  regret  and  pain! 
How  yon  cathedral's  vaulted  arch 
Will  echo  with  his  funeral  march; 
What  flowers  will  deck  his  costly  tomb: 
What  tapers  rob  the  grave  of  gloom  : 
While  columns,  nay,  whole  papers  tell 
How  great  a  man  to-day  has  fell. 
Deluded  mortals!  raise  your  eyes 
To  von  fair  regions  of  the  ^kies. 
Where  justice  sits,  each  cause  to  try 
Beneath  Omniscience's  searching  eye; 
Your  "  convict,"  on  low  bended  knee, 
Pleads  "guilty  "—and  they  set  him  free; 
And  angels  crown,  with  loud  acclaim, 
The  man  you  deemed  a  living  shame! 
Your  Crcesus,  with  uplifted  eye, 
(Still  conscious  of  his  station  high) 
Deigns  to  repeat,  with  growing  stre-,>. 
How  from  defeat  he  wrung  success: 
Tells,  with  a  proudly  swelling  heart, 
Of  millions  spent  on  sculptured  art; 
And  millions  more  on  lordly  hall, 
The  eye  and  heart  of  man  to  thrall: 
Tells  how  a  church  and  college  new 
From  his  donation  quickly  grew; 


PRISON     POETRY 

Tells  how — hi  cushioned  pew — he  knelt 
And  begged  God  other  hearts  to  melt, 
Until  each  child  of  man  should  be, 
Like  his  dear  self,  from  error  free; 
All  this  the3T  hear  your  idol  tell — 
And  cast  him  headlong-  into  hell! 
While  heaven  bows  her  head  with  awe 
In  sanction  of  Jehovah's  law. 


What  mighty  solons  fill  your  halls  of  state! 
(Poor  gibbering  parrots  with  an  empty  pate), 
Who  deem  all  prisons  of  but  little  use 
Not  founded  on  starvation  and  abuse. 
They  lock  poor  pris'ners  in  a  loathsome  cell, 
While  lash  and  pistol  drives  them  on  to  hell; 
They  crush  his  manhood  and  his  soul  debase. 
Blot  out  ambition  and  his  name  disgrace, 
Yet  wonder  greatly  that  such  humane  plan 
Makes  not  an  angel  of  each  convict  man. 
These  truthful  samples  of  your  legal  page 
Condemn  your  judgment  and  disgrace  _your  age- 
Too  oft  repeated,  who  will  dare  to  say 
To  what  dark  horrors  they  may  pave  the  way  '/ 
Pause!  ere  the  records  that  now  strew  >-our  path 
Invite  the  vengeance  of  Jehovah's  wrath; 
Relearn  the  lesson  early  taught  mankind, 
"To  God  give  reverence  and  to  man  be  kind." 
He  this  your  motto,  and  each  setting-  sun 
Will  kiss  the  feature  of  a  work  beg-un; 
Time  cannot  tarnish  and  no  heart  can  blame 
Your  noble  effort  to  deserve  a  name; 
Heaven  will  applaud  you,  and  the  smile 
Of  happiness  the  hours  beg-uile, 
Why  pay  such  homage  to  mere  human  laws? 
Dread  you  man's  censure  or  admire  applause ? 
\  re  you  forgetful  that  the  crown  of  fame 
Is  purchased  torture  and  expiring  shame? 
Think  you  man's  plaudits  or  his  causeless  hate 
Can  either  ope  or  close  the  pearly  gate ? 
Who  ever  placed  in  man  implicit  trust, 
Nor  saw  his  idol,  soon  or  late,  in  dust? 
Why  thus  pursue  an  ever  fading  wraith  ? 
"T  is  God,  and  God  alone,  deserves  your  faith. 


33 


PRISON     POETRY. 

Survey  all  things  with  comprehensive  view.. 

Admire  all  beauty  and  enthrone  the  true; 

Know  every  mortal,  tho'  a  separate  soul, 

Is  but  a  frag-ment  of  the  mighty  whole 

That  fills  a  niche  in  God's  eternal  plan, 

All  for  the  welfare  of  ungrateful  man; 

Learn  that  in  many  a  loathsome  cell 

A  prisoned  genius  or  a  saint  may  dwell, 

Whose  power,  developed  by  an  act  of  love. 

May  lead  a  million  to  the  Courts  above. 

Shall  it  be  yours  to  touch  that  vibrant  chord 

And  share  the  honor  of  the  great  reward? 

What  heaven  endorses  that  alone  can  stand: 

All  else  is  stubble,  built  on  shifting-  sand, 

That  shall  vanish  'mid  the  lire  and  flood 

Like  tiny  snowflakes  in  a  sea  of  blood. 

Oh,  could  my  Muse,  by  some  exalted  flight. 

Portray  her  knowledge  of   Eternal  Rig-ht — 

Breathe  in  soft  accents  to  the  listening- ear 

Tin'  melting-  music  which  my  soul  can  hear, 

Some  would  declare  my  reason  half  dethroned 

Before  my  fancy  to  such  heights  had  flown; 

Vei  could  such  see  as  I  have  seen  the  scroll 

Where  God   has  written  "  Destiny  of  Soul,'' 

They  much  would  wonder  how  my  Muse 

Could  dare  suppress  such  glorious  news. 

What  pen  can  picture  or  what  brush  can  paint 

The  endless  rapture  of  a  raptured  saint? 

Words  are  too  feeble;    they  but  tell  in  part 

The  truthful  language  of  a  human  heart; 

But,  Oh,  when  spirit  from  its  cumbering  clay 

Shall  rise  triumphant  to  the  realms  of  day, 

What  strains  seraphic  from  our  lips  shall  break 

Till  all  creation  shall  to  bliss  awake! 

O  bliss  supernal !  when  our  lips  shall  meet 

The  lips  long  buried — and  our  souls  shall  greet 

The  loved  and  cherished  of  those  earlier  years. 

Ere  pain  had  turned  each  quivering-  chord  to  tears. 

And  life  was  smiling-  in  her  morning-  hours 

And  love  was  conscious  of  her  niag-ic  powers. 

Oh,  sweet  reunion  on  the  cr\-stal  strand! 

When  we  shall  fondly  clasp  the  waiting  hand 

Of  buried  jewels  distance  hides  from  view. 


PRISON     POETRY. 

And  all  the  plighted  vows  of  life  renew, 
Then  shall  we  learn  the  truthfulness  of  love, 
When  hearts  like  otirs,  renewed  in  youth,  above- 
All  passion  and  the  cloying  cares  of  earth 
Shall  wake  to  rapture  with  a  Second  Birth! 

<)  hearts  estranged,  forgive  and  be  forgiven! 
Your  cruel  coldness  has  already  driven 
The  angel  sweetness  from  your  speaking  eye. 
And  suffered  everything-,  save  pride,  to  die. 

0  cradle,  in  the  lap  of  everlasting-  sleep 

The  dark,  fierce  passions  that  now  rudely  sweep 
The  sounding-  chambers  of  the  suffering-  soul, 
Where  Hate's  tumultuous  torrents  hourly  roll. 
And  blacken  what  was  once  so  white  and  fair, 
When  spotless  Innocence  was  centered  there! 
Oh,  keep  no  kisses  for  my  cold,  dead  brow 

1  am  so  lonely — let  me  feel  them  now. 

When  dreamless  sleep  is  mine  I  never  more  can  need 

The  tenderness  for  which  tonight  I  plead; 

My  wayworn  spirit  and  my  thorn-pierced  feet 

The  piteous  pleading's  of  my  lips  repeat. 

Oh,  shall  1  plead  and  plead  with  you  in  vain 

To  bring-  love's  sunlight  to  my  soul  ag-ain  ? 

Shall  acts  repented,  bred  of  undue  haste, 

La}-  all  my  stock  of  future  pleasures  waste? 

Hid  me  to  draw  a  servile,  galling-  chain, 

Nor  wish  to  murmur,  nor  murmur  to  complain  ? 

Will  3'ou  deprive  my  hungry  soul  of  love. 

Nor  leave  one  spark  of  happiness  above? 

Oh.  what  base  deed  has  these  my  fingers  wrong-lit 

To  wake  a  malice  with  each  veng-eance  fraug-ht? 

If  I  have  sinned  and  disobeyed  3'our  laws. 

Discarded  fashion  and  despised  applause, 

Have  I  not  suffered  all  a  man  can  know, 

And  drank  the  bitterest  dreg's  of  human  wot'? 

Think  you  1113-  proud  and  haughty-  soul  to  cower 

With  scorpion  lashes  of  tempestuous  power? 

Go  scourg-e  the  ocean  with  puny-  lash. 

Or  raze  a  mountain  with  a  feather's  crash! 

Why  thus  torment  rti3r  swift  declining-  age 

With  useless  torture  of  unreasoning  rage? 

'T  were  best  to  sound  the  caverns  of  m\  soul 


PRISON      POETRY. 


And  learn  the  being-  whom  you  dare  control! 
*T  will  teach  you  wisdom  in  a  single  hour 
And  rob  your  malice  of  its  wasting  power! 
For  heaven  has  writ  upon  each  poet  soul 

(il.NTLY    WITH     HIM     AND    HIS    ALL    CONTROL 


INFLUENCE. 

KV    SAM    LAW. 

When  e'er  a  noble  deed  is  wrought. 
When  e'er  is  spoke  a  noble  thought, 

Our  hearts,  in  glad  surpri- 

To  higher  levels  rise. 

The  sleeping  purpose  wakes  in  us. 

Arousing  power  or  .trenius. 

And  from  their  exercise 
Is  born  «rood  enterprise. 


Honor  to  those  whose  words  or 
Thus  help  us  in  our  prison  needs. 
And  by  their  overflow 
Raise  us  from  what  is  low. 


PRISON   POETRY. 
PERFECT  PEACE. 


["  Thou  wilt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace/' — Isaiah  xxvi,  3.] 

Peace,  perfect  peace,  in  this  dark  world  of  sin, 
The  blood  of  Jesus  whispers  peace  within; 
Peace,  perfect  peace,  for  loved  ones  far  awray; 
In  Jesus'  keeping-  we  are  safe  and  they. 
Peace,  perfect  peace,  with  sorrows  surging  'round, 
On  Jesus'  bosom  naught  but  calm  is  found; 
Peace,  perfect  peace,  our  future  all  unknown  ; 
Jesus  we  know,  and  He  is  on  the  throne. 
Peace,  perfect  peace,  death  shadowing-  us  and  ours; 
Jesus  has  vanquished  death  and  all  its  powers. 
It  is  enoug-h,  earth's  struggles  soon  shall  cease, 
And  Jesus  calls  to  Heaven's  own  perfect  peace. 


BE  LENIENT  TO  THE  ERRANT  ONE. 


BY   GEO.   W.    H.    HARRISON. 


Like  phantoms  wierd  of  troubled  dream. 
In  they  come— a  ceaseless  stream— 
The  callow7  youth,  the  aged  sire, 
To  reap  the  fruit  of  Satan's  hire. 

With  pallid  brow7  and  rueful  face 
They  view  their  g-arments  of  disgrace, 
And  oft  in  eyes  unused  to  weep 
Unbidden  tears  will  slowly  creep. 

Be  lenient  with  the  blighted  crowd; 
Some  come,  perhaps,  to  greet  a  shroud; 
Some,  perhaps,  will  go  outside 
And  yet  become  a  nation's  pride. 

If  by  kindness  you  reclaim 
A  single  soul  from  crime  and  shame, 
God  will  reward  the  noble  deed 
And  aid  you  in  the  hour  of  need. 


38  PRISON     POETRY. 

LAST  NIGHT  IN   THE  DUNGEON. 


The  darkness  of  hades  and  a  vile,  deathly  smell 

Is  all  that  I  feel  stealing-  over  my  senses, 
As  lingering-  alone  in  this  cold  dun  .are  on  cell, 

Shut  aw  a}-  from  the  world,  where  hearts"  blood  condenses. 

I  feel  't  is  too  much  for  slight,  trivial  offenses. 

Shut  away  from  the  dear  ones,  the  loved  ones  on  earth. 
I  suffer  the  tortures  that  no  man  can  tell 

Till  he  's  taken  away  from  fireside  and  hearth 
And  sees  the  sad  visions  of  a  dung-eon  cell — 
Then  he  feels  that  vile  man  can  create  a  real  hell. 

As  I  sit  here  alone,  my  head  throbbing-  and  aching-. 
And  listen  to  hear  if  the  keeper  is  near. 

My  thoug-hts  they  roam  back  to  little  ones  taking- 
Caresses  so  sweet  from  a  mother  so  dear — 
Then  I  'm  prompted  to  ask,  "Do  they  think-  of  me  here?" 

But  when  in  my  heart  I  feel  a  slig-ht  flutter, 
I  know  there  is  sympathy  somewhere  about: 

I  then  to  myself  do  silently  mutter. 

"They  have  love  for  me  still,  and  there  is  no  doubt:" 
Aye,  love  for  me  still,  and  this  I  've  found  out. 

Then,  down  on  the  damp  and  cold  stony  floor. 

Without  either  pillow,  or  blanket,  or  g-own, 
I  stretch  my  weak  body  rig-lit  close  to  the  door. 

And  there,  in  sweet  sleep,  my  vision  to  drown  — 

Then,  when  I  awake,  I  "m  not  so  cast  down. 

There  is  nothing-  so  sweet  and  perfectly  soothing- 
To  one  who  is  placed  in  a  cold  dung-eon  cell. 

As  the  thoug-ht  that  yet  there  are  dear  ones  a-wooing- 
The  one  who  's  imprisoned  in  a  dark,  dreary  dell— 
I  muttered,  while  sleeping-,  "  'T  is  well.  ah.  't  is  well." 

Then,  when  I  awoke  and  proceeded  to  think. 
Cold,  stiffened  and  hungry,  with  tong-ue  parched  from  thirst 

I  seek  but  in  vain  for  food  and  for  drink, 
But  bread  and  poor  water,  the  same  as  at  first — 
Aye,  dry  bread  and  bad  water,  the  same  as  at  first. 


PRISON     POETRY. 

Then  my  heart  sank  within  me,  so  weak  and  so  pale, 
As  I  g-azed  on  the  keeper  of  dung-eon  and  jail 

And  beg-g-ed  for  a  drink  of  pure  Adams'  ale, 
As  he  held  in  his  hand  a  full  water  pail — 
But  the  answer  came  back,  "  Your  plea  it  must  fail." 

Then,  giving-  it  up  in  pure  desperation, 
I  try  to  surpass  the  curse  of  damnation 

That  spring-s  to  my  lips  ere  I  can  but  control 
The  blood  that  is  boiled  by  such  torturing- droll — 
Then  I  whisper,  "  Be  still!     Some  one  loves  this  poor  soul." 

Then,  staid  In-  the  love  of  those  dear  ones  at  home, 
I  steady  myself  and  g-o  swimming-  along-; 

I  brave  the  hard  life  of  a  dark  dung-eon  cell 
And  I  come  out  victorious,  all  perfect  and  well — 
Theil  I  meet  them  ag-ain  and  g-o  home  there  to  dwell. 
'T  is  well!     Ah,  't  is  well! 


39 


HOPE. 


BY    SAM    LAW. 

The  world  may  change  from  old  to  new,- 

From  new  to  old  ag-ain, — 
Yet  Hope  and  Heaven,  forever  true, 

Within  man's  heart  remain. 
The  dreams  that  bless  the  weary  soul, 

The  strugg-le  of  the  strong-, 
Are  steps  toward  some  happy  g-oal, 
The  story  of  Hope's  song-. 


40  PRISON     POETRY. 

WOULD   THEY  KNOW? 


BY  25700. 

If,  amid  these  prison  shadows, 

These  pale  lips  should  breathe  their  last. 
Would  1113-  friends  regret  the  summons. 

And  forgive  my  guilt}*  past? 


Would  the}-  know  the  dire  temptations 
I  had  met  and  nobly  braved 

Ere  the  tears  in  g-uilty  passion 

My  pale  cheeks  in  torrents  laved  ? 


Would  they  know  how  oft  and  earnest 
I  had  plead  before  the  throne 

For  the  place  my  crime  made  vacant 
In  the  bosom  of  my  own  ': 


Would  these  hours  of  retribution 
I* rove  sufficient  for  my  sin  ? 

Would  the  gates  of  glory  open 
To  let  this  wear}'  wanderer  in  ? 


Hear,  Oh,  hear!     From  yonder  heaven 
Speaks  the  Lamb  once  crucified; 

Look  up,  sad  one;  never  falter: 
For  such  sinners  once  I  died." 


PRISON   POETRY. 
GUILT'S   QUERIES  AND  TRUTH'S  REPLIES. 


BY    HARRISON. 
GUILT. 

Will  the  fountain  of  life,  now  bathed  in  tears, 
Ebb  and  flow  ten  weary  years  ? 
Will  the  soul  escape  the  horrible  blight 
That  stalks  in  prison's  gruesome  night? 

TRUTH. 

Trust,  wear}-  one,  alone  in  ME; 
Living  or  dead,  thou  shalt  be  free 
From  prison  blight  and  sin's  alarms, 
While  closely  nestling1  in  my  arms. 

GUILT. 

Will  the  absent  ones  I  love  the  best 
'Neath  heaven's  smile  serenely  rest? 
Will  ever}-  branch  of  the  family  tree 
Still  bud  and  bloom  till  I  am  free  ? 

TRUTH. 

If  they  lean  upon  my  breast 
I  will  give  thy  loved  ones  rest; 
If  death  a  single  jewel  steal 
Heaven  its  presence  it  shall  reveal. 

GUILT. 

While  prayers  ascend  from  sacred  fane 
Shall  penitent  tears  be  shed  in  vain  ? 
Will  Christ  ascend  to  a  prison  cell 
And  deign  in  a  convict  heart  to  dwell? 

TRUTH. 

None  will  I  spurn  who  pardon  crave — 
I  came  on  earth  the  lost  to  save: 
He  loves  the  most  whose  debt  is  large — 
That  soul  is  heaven's  peculiar  charge. 


PRISON    POETRY. 


GUILT. 

If  ever  again  I  shall  be  free 

Will  the  wreck  of  my  life  still  haunted  be? 

Will  the  much  loved  friends  in  the  days  of  yore 

Spurn  me  from  their  open  door? 

TRUTH. 

Those  who  bathe  in  Calvary's  stream 
Sin  regard  as  a  hideous  dream; 
My  children  clothed  in  white  by  me 
A  welcome  meet  where'er  the}-  be. 


A    LETTER    FROM    HOME. 


KY  NO.  24138, 


I  am  far  from  the  land  where  my  loved  ones  are  dwelling; 

Between  rolls  the  sea,  with  its  billows  and  foam; 
Yet  my  heart  with  fondest  emotions  is  swelling 

As  I  read  the  dear  letter  the3^'ve  sent  me  from  home. 

For  I  fancy  I  see  the  brown  cottage  again, 
And  the  garden  where  sweetly  the  red  roses  blow; 

I  kneel  by  a  grave  in  the  shade  of  the  glen, 
Where  slumbers  the  dear  one  I  lost  long1  ago. 

And  oft  to  my  heart,  when  In  solitude  straying-, 
Fond  memory  recalls  the  bright  days  of  }Tore, 

And  I  sigh  for  the  fields,  where  the  children  are  playing-, 
The  hills  and  the  valley  I  may  never  see  more. 

Long  3'ears  have  I  wandered,  alone  and  a  stranger, 
And  dark  is  the  pathway  o'er  which  I  must  roam, 

But  I  know  there  is  ONE  who  can  shield  me  from  danger. 
And  his  blessing  I  ask  on  the  dear  ones  at  home. 


PRISON    POETRY.  43 

THE    REFORMER. 


BY   SAM   LAW 


All  grim  and  soiled  and  brown  with  tan, 

I  saw  a  strong-  one  in  his  wrath 
Smiting-  the  godless  shrines  of  man 

Along-  his  path. 

I  looked:  aside  the  dust  cloud  rolled — 
The  Master  seemed  the  Builder  too; 

Upspring-ing-  from  the  ruined  Old 
I  saw  the  New, 

Through  prison  walls,  like  heaven-sent  hope, 
Fresh  breezes  blew  and  sunbeams  stra3^ed, 

And  with  the  idle  g-allows  rope 
The  3'oung  child  plaj'ed. 

Where  the  doomed  victim  in  his  cell 
Had  counted  o'er  the  weary  hours 

Glad  school  g-irls,  answering-  to  the  bell, 
Came  crowned  with  flowers. 


REFLECTIONS. 


How  pleasant  it  is  to  be  at  home, 

Surrounded  by  those  we  love; 
How  sweet  to  list  to  words  of  cheer 
That  softly  fall  on  the  listening-  ear 

lake  the  notes  of  a  cooing-  dove. 

low  the  soft  caress  of  a  loving  hand 

Can  dry  the  eyes  that  weep! 
How  the  mind  is  eased  and  the  pulses  thrill 
As  we  feel  the  strength  of  a  loving  will 

That  rocks  our  grief  to  sleep. 


44 


PRISON    POETRY. 

How  soft  that  hand  has  ever  been 

When  sickness  laid  us  low, 
How  its  soft  caress  could  summon  rest 
And  bring-  relief  to  the  laboring-  breast, 

And  cool  the  fever's  g-low. 

How  soft  the  lig-ht  in  love-lit  eye, 
That  welcomes  our  safe  return; 
How  the  tender  kiss  and  warm  embrace 
Can  soothe  the  pain  of  late  disgrace 
When  fate  has  been  too  stern. 

God  bless  the  home  where  love  abides — 

'Tis  the  dearest  spot  on  earth! 
Be  it  hovel  or  palace,  or  great  or  small, 
It  holds  man's  hope,  his  joy,  his  all, 
And  heaven  g-ave  it  birth  1 


THE  PRISONER  RELEASED, 


BY    COL.    H.   C.   PARSONS. 


I  could  stand  and  look  at  the  stars  all  night — 
Where  tides  run  in  wreaths  to  the  rivers  and  rills, 
Where  the  sea  breezes  play  with  the  wind  from  the  hills — 
Where  bj*  land  and  by  sea  man  can  g-o  where  he  wills — 

I'm  a  free  man  again,  and  a  free  man  of  rig-ht. 

I  could  stand  and  look  at  the  stars  all  night, 
For  months  that  were  years  they  have  prisoned  my  stars; 
MJ-  silver-veiled  Venus  and  red-hooded  Mars 
Were  fettered  and  framed  by  the  merciless  bars, 

That  shaded  their  glory  or  shivered  their  light. 

I  will  stand  and  look  at  .the  stars  all  nig-ht; 
I  will  wait  in  the  shadow  and  lee  of  the  tower 
Till  morning'  shall  come,  with  his  magical  power — 
Perhaps  in  the  flame  of  that  wonderful  hour 

The  prison  shall  tremble  and  pass  from  my  sight. 


PRISON  POETRY.  45 

PRISON  PAINS. 


BY    HARRISON. 


Oh !  to  be  heart  hungry, 

To  feel  that  never  again 
Shall  the  heart  pulsate  with  rapture 

To  the  music  of  love's  strain! 

To  feel  o'er  the  senses  stealing1 

A  grief  for  words  too  deep, 
And  know  the  heart's  best  instincts 

Are  locked  in  fathomless  sleep. 

To  hear  the  piteous  wailings 
That  rise  from  an  empty  heart, 

While  every  breath  is  torture 
And  every  thought  a  dart. 

Oh,  list  to  the  wondrous  music 
As  it  floats  from  the  world  above: 

"  There  is  balm  for  the  broken-hearted 
The  gift  of  my  Son  is— love." 

Aj-e,  prayer  to  heaven  ascending, 
Tho'  winged  from  a  convict  cell, 

Shall  find  in  heaven  a  welcome 
No  tong-ue  can  ever  tell. 


THE  UNDER  DOG. 


BY    BARKER. 


I  know  that  the  world— the  great,  big-  world, 
From  the  peasant  up  to  the  king-, 

Has  a  different  tale  from  the  tale  I  tell 
And  a  different  song-  to  sing-. 


46  PRISON    POETRY. 

But  for  me — and  I  care  not  a  single  fig 
If  they  sa.y  I  was  wrong-  or  am  right — 

I  shall  always  go  in  for  the  weaker  dog, 
For  the  under  dog-  in  the  fight. 

I  know  that  the  world— the  great,  big  world — 

Will  never  a  moment  stop 
To  see  which  dog  ma}-  be  in  the  fault, 

But  will  shout  for  the  dog  on  top. 

But  for  me— I  never  shall  pause  to  ask 
Which  dog  ma}-  be  in  the  right — 

For  ni\-  own  heart  will  beat,  while  it  beats  at  all. 
For  the  under  dog  in  the  fight. 


KINDNESS. 


BY   ROTH. 

A  kind  word  for  the  prisoner, 
A  smile  to  cheer  his  heart, 

For  he  bears  a  grievous  burden, 
Tho'  he  bravely  plajrs  his  part. 

From  the  world  he  hides  his  sorrows, 
Stifles  the  groan  of  distress 

That  struggles  oft  for  utterance 
Beneath  his  convict  dress. 

The  alert  night  watch  could  tell 
Of  the  burning  sighs  the}-  hear 

While  making  midnight  rounds 
Through  corridors  so  drear. 

Then  cheer  his  lot  with  kindness, 
E'en  though  he  be  depraved: 

If,  wakened  from  his  blindness, 
The  worst  one  mav  be  saved. 


PRISON    POETRY.  47 

THERE  is  No  DEATH. 


There  is  no  death !     The  feeble  body,  slumbering-, 

Seems  but  to  waste  and  fade  away; 
In  future  years  that  God  is  numbering- 

'Twill  spring-  from  slumber  and  decay. 

And  clothed  with  beauty  everlasting, 

With  not  a  stain  of  earth  to  mar, 
'Twill  voice  a  music  more  entrancing- 

Than  anthem  of  the  morning-  star. 

A  thing-  of  beauty  is  immortal; 

Each  line  once  lost  to  mortal  sig-ht, 
Soars  upward  to  heaven's  aug-ust  portal, 

Glad  to  escape  earth's  cankering-  nig-ht. 

Earth's  best  and  brig-litest  can  not  perish — 

Death  is  decreed  alone  to  strife. 
The  g-ood  we  love  and  fondly  cherish 

God  has  endowed  with  endless  life. 

Grieve  not  for  those  now  calmly  sleeping-, 
Rocked  by  the  slow",  revolving-  earth: 

Ang-elic  hosts  around  them  sweeping- 
Shall  wake  them  to  an  endless  birth. 

In  heaven  above  there  is  no  seeming1: 

God  feeds  immortal  souls  on  bliss; 
On  earth  we  ling-er,  sadly  dreaming-, 

Till  death  awakes  us  with  a  kiss. 

Then  fear  thee  not  death's  friendly  slumbers: 

Guardian  ang-els  watch  thy  rest; 
Jehovah  all  thy  days  shall  number 

And  do  for  thee  whate'er  is  best. 


48  PRISON  POETRY. 

DREAMS. 


Dreams  are  but  glimpses  of  the  power 
Deep  hidden  in  the  human  soul 

That,  like  some  enchanted  flower, 

Withers  'neath  reason's  stern  control. 

The3'  come  not  as  invited  guests 
To  while  awa}-  the  tedious  hours — 

Are  the}-  not  lights  from  heaven  sent 
To  teach  the  soul  its  wondrous  powers? 

And  best  the}'  love  to  lead  us  back 
O'er  scenes  to  memory  doubly  dear, 

For  those  we,  waking-,  love  the  most 
In  dreams  will  seem  most  near. 

While  reason  sleeps  the  soul,  awake, 
Lives  o'er  each  precious  hour, 

And  woos  us  with  a  gentle  strain 
Of  pathos  and  of  power. 

Dreams  index  to  our  waking  thought 
Plans  on  which  the  heart  is  set, 

And  he  who  heeds  their  warning  voice 
Has  in  life  least  to  regret. 

In  waking  hours  we  sow  the  seed, 

In  dreams  we  reap  the  grain: 
Sometimes  the  harvest  all  is  joy, 

Sometimes,  alas!  'tis  pain. 

What  marvel  then  that  sleep  is  sweet, 
If  dreams  bring  bliss  to  view — 

Perhaps  the  afterglow  of  death 
Will  prove  most  dreams  are  not  untrue. 


PRISON     POETRY.  49 

THE  GREAT  "O.  P." 


"  Forward,  march!  ''  the  left  foot  first, 

The  heel  down  mighty  hard, 
Your  head  erect  and  turned  to  the  left, 

As  3'ou  sl3'l3'  watch  the  guard. 
Tramp,  tramp,  three  times  each  day* 

Back  and  forth  to  our  meals, 
While  the  fellow  behind,  with  his  "  State  brogans,'' 

Scrapes  the  skin  all  off  our  heels. 

The  visitors  in  amaze  at  us  gaze 

As  we  march  gaj'ly  b3', 
The  ladies  fair,  with  maii3"  a  stare. 

Will  slyly  say,  ki  O  my!  " 
Some  "Ha3*seed  "  old,  with  a  chronic  cold, 

Will  suddenly  sa\-,  k'  I  swow! 
There  goes  the  man — do  you  see  him  Ann  ? — 

What  took  our  brindle  cow!" 

The\-  sa\r  we  are  "cut-throats  and  "  robbers/' 

And  would  be  worse  if  we  could; 
But  it's  false — we're  noble-hearted  patriots, 

Here  for  our  country's  good, 
And  the  honor  came  to  us,  you  know: 

We  didn't  go  to  it— 
In  other  words,  we  were  forced  here 

To  "  do  "  our  little  "  bit." 

Uncle  Sam's  domain  has  been  ransacked 

For  men  with  blue-blooded  veins, 
For  we  don't  want  aii3^  persons  here 

With  aii3'  mortal  stains. 
We  are  all  old  sons  of  Irish  lords— 

Or  at  least  we'd  like  to  be- 
But  instead  we  are  onl3^  "  cons,"  3'ou  know, 

Doing  time  in  the  great  "  O.  P." 


PRISON    POETRY". 

COMING  [N  AND  GOING  Our. 


BY    CARK. 


Coming-  in  to  penal  slavery,, 

Coming1  in  from  liberty; 
Going-  out  to  joy  and  freedom, 

Going-  out  the  world  to  see; 
Coming-  in,,  oh,  how  unhappy  1 

Going-  out  with  man}'  a  doubt — 
Endless  stream  of  wretched  mortals; 

Coming-  in  and  going:  out. 


From  the  many  charms  of  home  life., 

From  beneath  the  humble  cot, 
To  this  penal  institution 

Where  the  felon  mortal  *s  brought 
From  some  distant  homes  perhaps  torn 

Because  grim  justice  took  a  fit — 
Coming-  in  with  sig-hs  and  sadness, 

A  bondsman  for  his  life  or  "  bit." 


Far  his  loving-  wife  and  children, 

While  their  eyes  with  tears  are  wet; 
Thoug-h  his  family  needs  him  daily, 

And  there  are  bills  that  must  be  mot, 
To  this  convict  world  about  us, 

With  its  heartless  woe  and  din, 
Endless  stream  of  restless  mortals 

Adding-  to  its  load  of  sin. 


Time  g-oes  on  so  very  slowly, 

Thoug-h  we  try  hard  not  to  grieve 
For  the  dear  old  family  homestead 

And  for  those  we're  forced  to  leave; 
Weary  are  we  very  often, 

Weary  when  we  try  to  win 
News  of  tho.se  who  loved  us  dearly 

Ere  we  took  this  step  in  sin. 


PRISON    POETRY. 

Coming-in,  alas!  to  never 

See  the  outside  world  again! 
Some  there  are  that  have  my  pity: 

Naught  for  them  but  toil  and  pain;; 
Doomed  life's  golden  hours  to  fritter 

Far  from  home  and  friends  most  dear- 
<God's  pity  on  the  poor  full-termer 

Coming  in  to  die,  we  fear. 

Coming  in  to  serve  our  sentence, 

Going  out,  we  hope,  to  cheer; 
Coming  in  to  do  hard  Sabor, 
Going  out  to  famil}-  dear — 
Careless  stream  of  wretched  mortals 

From  all  stations  'long  life's  route- 
Hovel,  mansion  and  the  hamlet- 
Coming  in  and  going  out. 


SOUL  SCULPTURE 


BY    BISHOP   DOANE. 

Sculptures  of  life  are  we  as  we  stand, 

With  our  souls  uncarved  before  us, 
Waiting  the  hour  when,  at  God's  command^ 

Our  life  dream  shall  pass  o'er  us. 
If  we  carve  it,  then,  on  the  3'ielding  stone 

With  many  a  sharp  incision, 
Its  heavenl3'  beaut3'  shall  be  our  own. 

Our  lives  the  angel  vision. 


PRISON     POETRY. 
WEIGHT    AND    IMMORTALITY    OF    WORDS. 


Who  knows  how  heavy  his  words  ma.v  be. 
Or  watches,  when  he  has  sot  them  free, 
Their  poising",  their  flight,  their  rise  and  fall 
In  the  world  of  thought?     We  are  careless  all. 

We  fathom  our  own,  not  another's  mind, 
And  are  all  near-sighted  among  our  kind. 
While  words  of  ours  and  words  of  theirs 
Are  meeting  and  wrestling  unawares. 

Words  are  types  of  our  moral  trend, 
The  blooms  of  our  daily  lives,  that  lend 
To  others  the  fragrance  of  what  we  are— 
The  outward  semblance  that  goes  afar. 

The  part  of  ourselves  that  is  not  our  own. 
When  set  afloat  in  the  vast  unknown, 
The  something  we  give  to  the  moving  wheels 
Of  the  mighty  force  that  grows  and  feels. 

No  words  are  lost  as  they  float  away: 
On  some  life  ever  they  rest  and  weigh, 
Unbound  in  public  or  depths  obscure 
Their  immortality  is  secure. 

Deep  in  our  hearts  we  often  rind 
Words  lips  long  closed  have  left  behind: 
They  live  in  the  chambers  of  the  brain, 
The  source  of  endless  joy  or  pain. 

Words  may  be  soft  as  evening  air 

Or  fierce  as  sultry  noondaA-'s  glare, 

But  soft  or  fierce,  be  sure  they  rest 

A  curse  or  blessing  in  some  one's  breast. 

How  deep  soever  their  meaning  ma}r  lie. 
Not  every  soul  will  pass  them  by! 
No  anger,  nor  passion,  nor  malice  so  great 
Bnt  a  match  'twill  meet  in  a  world  of  hate. 


PRISON     POETRY. 


No  love  so  deep,  no  word  so  kind 
But  lodges  at  last  in  a  kindred  mind, 
No  thought  so  vast,  nor  high  nor  low 
But  a  parallel  meets  in  a  world  of  woe. 

A  heedless  word  a  heart  may  break, 
A  thoughtful  one  a  fortune  make; 
One.  hurl  a  soul  in  endless  night; 
Another,  lead  to  heaven's  delight. 

One  word  may  nerve  a  murderer's  arm, 
Another  still  a  raging  storm — 
One,  sow  the  seeds  of  endless  strife; 
Another,  sanctify  a  life. 

Our  words  outline  the  feeble  tongue 
From  which  their  outward  being  sprung, 
Or,  written  on  the  stainless  page, 
They  live  to  bless  or  curse  an  age. 

HOAV  careful,  then,  ought  we  to  be 
lie  fore  we  let  such  engines  free! 
Once  free,  no  power  can  call  them  back, 
Nor  human  genius  trace  their  track. 

We  loose  them  'mid  the  wide  expanse 
"Neath  jo3'ous  spell  or  sorrow's  trance, 
But  if  their  fruitage  all  could  know 
\Ve  would  not  deem  them  half  so  low. 


53 


54  PRISON     POETRY. 

WHICH    LOVED    HER    BEST? 


Two  votaries  of  love's  maddening1  dream 
At  twilight  sat  beside  a  stream, 
Each  painting-  scenes  of  future  bliss, 
Dependent  on  their  darling-'s  kiss. 

Both  were  3'oung-  and  both  were  fair, 
With  noble  hearts  and  manly  air, 
And  both  were  members  of  a  band 
Who  bled  to  free  his  native  land. 

Each  was  bound  both  heart  and  soul 
Beneath  fair  Nellie's  sweet  control, 
Yet  they  were  friends  both  true  and  tried. 
If  such  ere  lived,  if  such  ere  died. 

Each  loved  her  much,  yet  neither  knew 
How  well  each  loved  her,  nor  how  true, 
For  each  was  dreaming1  of  the  hour 
That  he  would  cull  this  priceless  flower. 

At  last  Ned  turned  and  g"a3-ly  said, 
"  Next  Wednesda3'  I  and  Nellie  wed— 
God  knows  I  am  the  happiest  man 
In  all  this  joyous  Western  land. 

"  I  could  not  keep  this  back  from  you — 

That  would  be  unjust — untrue. 

I  feel  whatever  shall  betide 

That  you  will  e'er  defend  my  bride." 

Harve3'  turned  aside  his  face, 

Lest  his  friend  should  see  some  trace 

Of  the  ang-uish  and  despair 

The  hopeless  suffering-  mirrored  there. 

Each  word  had  sunk  within  his  heart 
Like  adder's  tooth  or  poisoned  dart; 
Jo3'ful  love  and  hope  had  fled, 
And  left  his  withered  heart — stone  dead. 


PRISON    POETRY.  55 

He  raised  his  hag-gard  face  above 
Until  an  ang-el  mother's  love 
Sent  comfort  to  her  suffering  child, 
That  made  him  calm  and  meek  and  mild. 

By  memories  of  the  tented  field 
Where  patriots  died,  but  dared  not  yield, 
He  knew  that  Ned  his  arm  had  lent  u 
To  stop  steel  for  his  bosom  meant, 

And  oft  had  watched  beside  his  bed 
When  others  in  dismay  had  fled; 
When  he  spoke,  his  voice  was  low 
And  soft  as  rippling-  streamlets  flow: 

44 1  wish  you  peace  and  joy,  Ned; 
You  best  deserve  this  queen  to  wed. 
I  only  crave  in  future  life 
To  serve  you  and  your  peerless  wife." 

The  loyal  look  in  Harvey's  eyes 
Was  to  Ned  a  new  surprise; 
And  in  a  moment  all  was  plain — 
His  friend's  devotion  and  his  pain. 

They  stood  and  wrung-  each  others  hand 
To  reinforce  their  friendship's  band— 
Their  hearts  were  full,  their  eyes  were  wet, 
Yet  who  can  such  a  scene  regret  ? 

Their  friendship  stood  the  cruel  test, 
And  sank  triumphant  into  rest; 
They  parted,  but  to  meet  ag-ain 
Where  life  was  torture,  memory  pain. 

One  year  passed,  and  war  had  swept 
O'er  the  spot  where  these  two  wept, 
While  they,  with  Meig-'s  g-alland  band, 
Were  held  by  Santa  Anna's  hand. 

Behind  Satillo's  g-loomy  walls, 
Whose  history  stoutest  heart  appalls, 


PRISON     POETRY. 

Here  base  deeds  were  hourly  wrong-lit 
With  hell's  intensest  malice  fraught. 

Two  hundred  patriots  true  and  tried 
To  Santa  Anna's  shame  here  died 
Simply  because  they  leapt  the  wall 
And  strove  to  go  beyond  recall! 

Ned  and  his  comrades  planned  their  flight 
While  careless  sentries  slept  at  night. 
And  in  safety  reached  the  distant  plain 
Where  hope  and  life  revived  again. 

Across  the  arid  plain  they  sped, 
Half  clothed,  half  starved  and  almost  dead 
Without  a  guide  to  lead  them  right 
They  toiled  by  day  and  prayed  by  night. 

The  blistering  soil  bold  cactus  bred 
Till  every  toil-worn  foot  was  bled, 
And  one  by  one  the  hapless  band 
Fell  prostrate  on  the  glittering  sand. 

Pursuing  soldiers  found  them  thus, 
And  drug  and  drove  them  to  the  "  truss," 
There  to  await  the  "  tortures  grand  " 
That  Santa  Anna  would  command. 

"  Nine  of  ten  shall  now  be  shot; 
Choose  the  guilty  dogs  by  lot: 
This  law  for  ages  now  untold 
Has  defied  both  fraud  and  gold  I  " 

Nine  black  beans  and  one  snow  white 
Were  placed  within  a  box  at  night— 
Every  captive  must  draw  one, 
Blindfolded,  ere  the  work  begun. 

If  white,  he  lived,  if  black,  he  died— 
Thus  were  the  Texas  patriots  tried! 
By  sons  of  Gantimozin's  race — 
Man's  caricature  and  heaven's  disgrace! 


PRISON    POETRY. 

Harvey  drew  one  of  faultless  white, 
Ned  drew  one  as  black  as  nig-ht. 
"'  I'm  lost — oh,  God,  my  wife!  "  Ned  gasped. 
As  Harvey  sprang-  his  hand  to  clasp. 

•"  Not  so,"  he  cried,  "  3Tour  bean  is  white — 
See,  mine  is  black,  thank  God!  'tis  rig-ht!  " 
E'er  Ned  could  draw  a  conscious  breath — 
Harve3'  had  met  a  hero's  death! 

Which  loved  her  best,  the  man  who  died 
Or  he  who  livt.d  to  cheer  his  bride? 
Please  answer  me;  O  heart,  awake — 
Such  liberty  I  dare  not  take. 


57 


THE  STORMS  OF  LIFE. 


BY   SAM    LAW. 

The  oak  strikes  deeper  as  his  boutrhs 

By  furious  blasts  are  driven; 
So  life's  vicissitudes  the  more 

Have  fixed  my  heart  in  heaven. 
All  gracious  Lord,  whate'er  my  lot 

In  other  times  may  be, 
I'll  welcome  still  the  heaviest  grief 

That  brings  me  near  to  Thee. 


5g  PRISON    POETRY. 

LOVE'S    VICTIM, 


She  was  no  dainty  city  belle, 

Half  art  and  half  deceit, 
And  yet  no  fairer  vision 

The  human  eye  could  greet. 

Naught  knew  she  of  city  life 

Or  fashion's  changing-  art — 
Nature  created  her  a  belle 

And  blessed  her  with  a  heart. 

Her  eyes  were  large  and  soulful, 

Her  face  divinely-  fair; 
Her  form  was  lithe  and  graceful 

And  a  golden  dream  her  hair. 

Her  voice  was  full  of  melody: 

Each  tone  to  listening  ear 
Seemed  to  awake  such  music 

As  angels  delight  to  hear. 

Beautiful,  pure  and  guileless, 
With  the  faith  of  a  trusting  child. 

She  worshiped  the  God  of  nature 
With  a  spirit  undefiled. 

She  lived  with  honest  parents 
In  a  home  on  the  mountain  side, 

Where  peace  and  plenty  lingered 
And  love  was  true  and  tried. 

Parental  duress  was  unknown, 
For  love's  restraints  are  mild: 

A  mother's  love  and  father's  hope 
Were  centered  in  this  child. 

The  acknowledged  belle  of  the  mountain, 
She  spurned  the  coquette's  art, 

Determining  never  to  promise 
Her  hand  without  her  heart. 


PRISON    POETRY. 

She  could  not  love  her  suitors 
With  the  love  a  wife  should  give, 

And  deemed  it  sin  without  such  love 
In  wedlock's  bonds  to  live. 

The  idol  of  many  a  noble  heart, 
None  dared  their  suit  to  press: 

Thus  they  wound  the  gentle  spirit 
That  pitied,  but  could  not  bless. 

Grateful  for  each  friendly  smile 
That  o'er  her  face  would  beam, 

She  reigned  an  empress  absolute 
In  each  fond  lover's  dream. 

A  petted  child  of  fashion, 
The  heir  to  boundless  wealth, 

Came  one  day  among-  them 
To  recruit  his  waning  health. 

These  hospitable  mountain  people 
Welcomed  the  haggard  boy, 

Ami  strove  to  make  his  visit 
One  radiant  scene  of  joy. 

The}-  bade  their.darling  daughter 
To  be  the  stranger's  guide, 

And  show  him  all  the  beauties 
Of  her  loved  mountain  side. 

Together  they  scaled  the  mountains, 
With  man}-  a  merry  shout; 

Together  they  garnered  the  flowers 
Or  angled  the  nimble  trout. 

He  spake  of  his  home  in  the  city, 
Of  the  wealth  he  soon  would  own; 

Promised  to  make  I^enora  his  wife 
Ere  the  summer  days  had  flown. 

Lenora  loved  this  stranger 
With  a  soul-absorbing  love. 


59 


60  PRISON    POETRY 

And  trembled  'neath  his  caressr- 
As  helpless  as  a  dove. 

He  was  a  master  of  the  art 
That  robs  the  halls  of  Truth 

To  grain  what  passion  courts,. 
Tho'  it  blasts  the  hopes  of  3'outh. 

His  honied  words  of  flattery, 
Uttered  with  seductive  art, 

\Wre  music  to  the  listening-  ear 
And  soon  deceived  the  heart. 

Lenora  confided  in  his  worth, 

Receiving-  each  promise  as  truth — 

How  could  she  doubt  her  onl}-  love 
In  the  trustful  hours  of  youth? 

Assured  of  an  early  marriag-e, 
She  3'ielded  to  him  one  day 

That  priceless  germ  of  innocence 
And  fell — to  trust  a  prey. 

She  hoped  this  sacrifice  would  gain 
Her  lover's  every  thought; 

This  were  a  boon,  if  death  could  bu>- 
She  deemed  not  dearl}'  boug-ht. 

Little  she  dreamed  that  fatal  hour 
That  love  had  sped  the  dart 

That  stamped  her  as  an  outcast, 
With  a  withered,  broken  heart. 

Eugene  went  to  his  city  home, 
Swearing-  to  soon  return 

And  claim  as  wife  the  g-irl  he  knew 
His  parents  proud  would  spurn. 

Summer  and  autumn  days  passed  by 
And  the  winter's  cold  set  in, 

Yet  the  recreant  lover  came  not 
To  the  child  he  taugfht  to  sin. 


PRISON    POETRY,  6l 

A  mother's  ever  watchful  eye 

Discovered  her  daughter's  shame, 
Heard  her  story  with  breaking-  heart, 

But  uttered  no  word  of  blame. 

She  knew  her  daughter's  downfall 

Was  the  fruit  of  love  beguiled, 
But  hated  the  heartless  stranger 

Who  ruined  her  trusting  child. 

God  alone  can  measure  the  pain 

That  child  and  mother  felt, 
As,  locked  in  lingering1  embrace, 

In  agony  they  knelt 

And  poured  in  heaven's  listening  ear 

Their  heart-destroying  grief; 
And  who  so  bold  as  to  deny 

That  Heaven  sent  relief? 

The  father  learned  his  daughter's  sin 

And  drove  her  from  his  door. 
"  Go!  "  he  said,  "  you  guilty  wretch, 

You  are  my  child  no  more." 

Slung  by  these  cruel,  terrible  words, 

She  fled  in  wild  affright 
In  search  of  the  heartless  lover, 

Her  fearful  wrongs  to  right. 

She  tracked  the  guilty  miscreant  down, 

And  he,  to  save  his  name, 
Hid  her  till  her  child  was  born 

In  a  house  of  doubtful  fame. 

The  world  looked  on  the  helpless  child 

With  cold,  unpitying  eye. 
The  villian  bade  his  dupe  go  home, 

"  Repent  of  her  sin  and  die." 

She  heard,  and  from  her  glittering  eye 
No  tear  of  anguish  sped — 


62  PRISON    POETRY. 


With  dagger  drawn  she  reached  his  side, 
And  struck  the  villian  dead! 

With  her  babe  she  sought  her  father's  door 

And  pled  with  a  piteous  cry 
A  shelter  for  her  hapless  babe 

While  the  storm  was  raging  high. 

"Begone,  you.  wretch!  "  the  father  cried, 

"  I  curse  the  hour  that  gave 
Birth  to  a  wretch  whose  sin  has  laid 

My  wife  within  the  grave." 

"M}-  mother  dead !  and  I  still  live  ? 

Ah!  whither  shall  I  fly  ? 
O  God !  protect  my  hapless  babe, 

And  suffer  me  to  die." 

The  storm  increased;  she  wandered  on 

Almost  till  break  of  day, 
Till  weary,  wet  and  almost  dead. 

She  knelt  in  the  path  to  pray. 

The  sky  was  lit  from  end  to  end 
63-  the  lightning's  awful  glare, 

And  a  falling  tree  pinned  both  to  earth 
As  they  knelt  in  the  act  of  pra^ver! 

The}-  found  them  thus  in  the  morning  light, 
And  the  father's  grief  was  wild. 

He  tenderl}'  looked  on  the  touching  scene 
And  at  last  forgave  his  child! 

The}-  buried  Lenora  and  her  nameless  babe 

Close  beside  her  mother's  clay, 
And  each  one  spake  in  kindl}-  tones 

Of  the  hapless  ones  that  da}-. 

The  arm  that  sent  the  dagger  home 
WTas  nerved  by  a  brain  dethroned: 

'Tis  Lenora's  was  an  awful  deed, 
But  her  terrible  death  atoned. 


PRISON    POETRY.  63 


Aye,  let  us  hope  the  much-wrong-ed  child 

Has  reached  a  home  above 
Where  babes  can  live  who  have  no  name 

And  'tis  not  sin  to  love. 


A    PRISONER'S    LAMENTATION. 


A  poor  convict  in  his  cell  lay  dying: 
He  thought  of  home  and  loved  ones  dear. 

He  asked  his  cell-mate,  in  a  whisper, 
"  Do  you  think  the  end  is  drawing  near  ?  ' 

**  If  I  should  die  before  I  see  them 
Tell  them  how  I  long-ed  to-nig-lit 

To  have  my  mother's  blessed  care 
To  leave  this  world  of  sin  and  strife." 


Oh  !  how  he  long-ed  to  see  his  mother 

And  the  cottag-e  on  the  hill — 
"  God  bless  them  a//,"  I  heard  him  whisper, 

As  with  tears  his  eyes  did  fill. 


"•  Will  they  think  of  me — a  prisoner — 
I,  who  was  once  their  pride  and  joy? 

While  I  sleep  in  the  churchyard  yonder 
Will  they  think  of  their  wayward  boy  ? 


"  I  know  I've  caused  them  lots  of  trouble 
In  wild  and  reckless  boyish  day, 

But  I  hope  that  God  will  now  forg-ive  me 
When  from  this  earth  I'm  called  away. 


"  I  know  it  broke  my  mother's  heart 
When  she  heard  of  me,  her  wayward  son. 

Who  five  long-  years  did  serve  in  prison 
For  a  hig-hway  robbery  he  had  done. 


64  PRISON    POETRY. 

"  Has  Sister  "  Minn,"  whom  I  used  to  pla\-  with 
In  days  of  j-outh,  forgotten  me  ? 

If  she  has,  I  vow  I  can  not  blame  her, 
For  I've  caused  her  pain  and  shame,  not  glee. 

"There's  but  one  wish  I  now  shall  mention- 
That  Mother's  days  may  be  days  of  joy, 

And  when  she  asks  for  me  in  prison 
Speak  mildly  of  her  convict  boy. 

"  Here,  take  this  to  my  dear  old  mother! 

I  know  'tis  but  a  lock  of  hair, 
But  it's  all  I've  got  to  give  her  now  — 

I  know  she'll  treasure  it  with  care." 

And  when  he  handed  me  the  keepsake 
His  spark  of  life  had  nearly  fled. 

He  clenched  my  hand  and  uttered  "  Mother  /" 
And  a  poor  convict  there  la}r  dead. 


3*  all  young  men  now  take  fair  warning 
From  one  who's  had  experience  long: 
Guard  strong  against  temptation's  dawning  - 
Cast  off  evil  and  do  no  wrong. 

In  j-our  younger  days  court  good,  shun  evil; 

Be  careful  who  you  companions  choose: 
When  you  make  life's  start  then  do  not  cavil  — 

March  manfully  on  to  win,  not  lose. 


PRISON   POETRY.  65 

OUR  BOARD  OF  MANAGERS. 


Long  have  we  lived  in  miser}-  and  woe; 

Long-  have  we  suffered  from  "  kindness  "  cold  as  snow; 

Long-  has  pernicious  influence  been  kept 

Hovering"  'round  our  misery,  while  in  dungeons  we  have  slept. 

Long-  have  we  suffered  from  want  of  human  care; 

Long-  have  we  been  bearded  as  the  tig-er  in  his  lair; 

Long1  have  we  went  hungry  for  want  of  proper  food. 

And  felt  the  sting-  of  th'  master's  lash,  as  o'er  our  task  we  stood. 

As  the  dark  and  gloomy  cloud,  that  hovered  o'er  our  past, 
Has  been  wafted  off  by  humane  hands— 'tis  swept  away  at  last. 
We  now  emerg-e  from  darkness  into  a  welcome  light, 
And  live  in  brig-hter  future  hopes — a  da}-  made  out  of  night. 

We  hail  you,  noble,  honest  men.  whose  hearts  beat  five  as  one. 
Thus  far  in  3'our  prison  work  your  duty  you  have  done; 
Eternal  God  will  always  rig-tit  the  brutal  wrong's  of  man, 
And  therefore  He  did  send  you  here  to  do  the  best  you  can. 

A  Cherring-ton,  for  the  chairman,  is  a  master  stroke,  3*011  know, 

And  a  Rose  is  always  welcome,  'cause  virtue  he  will  sow: 

A  McConica,  of  democrat  fame,  is  a  power  behind  the  throne, 

While  a  Hoffman,  sent  from  Cleveland,  is  a  father  to  the  home; 

A  Muscroft  from  old  "Cincy "'  is  a  rattler  for  the  place; 

They  all  do  join  their  hands  and  thoug-hts  and  duty  bravely  face. 

While  a  McAdow  records  their  acts  with  a  g-entlemanly  grace. 

The}-  issue  mandates  rig-ht  and  left  and  order  what  is  just; 
The}-  raise  poor  fallen,  helpless  man  to  a  place  of  welcome  trust; 
They  seek  to  lead  him  on  the  way  to  a  nobler,  better  life, 
And  restore  him  to  his  children  and  his  broken  hearted  wife. 

Their  Coffin  always  sits  close  by  to  lend  a  helping-  hand. 
And  faithfully  their  trust  does  keep — a  leader  of  their  band. 
Well  they  know  the  awful  fruitag-e  of  each  harsh  and  brutal  plan 
Is  to  rouse  the  lurking  tiger  in  the  breast  of  erring-  man. 


66  PRISON     POETRY, 

Now    they    rule,   whose   eveor    impulse   ripened    by   enlightened 

thought, 

And  it  leads  to  many  actions  that  with  highest  good  is  fraught. 
And  they  use  with  great  discretion  measures  that  are  just  and 

kind, 
Hoping  to  reform  the  erring  through  the  agency  of  mind. 


The3T  have  learned  the  useful  lesson  taught  men  from  the  power 

above, 

That  the  greatest  force  in  nature  is  the  power  of  inspired  love. 
They  have  learned  that  rank  dissension  from  all  evil  nature  flows, 
And  they  deem  that  man  the  greatest  who  can  ease  most  mortal 

woes. 

Let  us  ever  sing  enchanting  of  our  now  official  corps 

As  they  lift  us  from  dark  ruin  as  it  has  been  heretofore. 

See!    the  clouds  so  late  1 3-  darkening  o'er  the  prisoner's  gloomy 

past, 
Mercy's  hand  is  fast  dispelling — REASON  takes  the  reins  al  last  / 


A    TRIBUTE    TO 

ASSISTANT  DEPUTY  WARDEN  L.  H.  WELLS 


BY    G.    \V.    VAX    WKIGIIS. 


Comrade,  may  the  God  of  heaven  ease  the  maddening  pain 
That  has  swept  across  37our  bosom  since  3'our  son  was  slain; 
Think  not  of  him  as  a  mortal  mouldering  into  dust; — 
(iod,  too,  loved  him  and,  my  comrade,  He  betrays  no  trust. 


You  shall  see  him  when  the  morning  breaks  above  the  night  of 

death, 

And  your  parting,  O,  ni3r  comrade,  will  but  seem  a  passing  breath. 
Well  I  know  the  awful  pressure  grief  exerts  upon  the  soul, 
But  I  know  it  will  but  whiten  what  it  can't  control. 


PRISON    POETRY.  67 

You  have  met  on  field  of  battle  niativ  a  gallant  foe, 
And,  with  patriotism  burning-,  grave  them  blow  for  blow, 
You  have  fought  till  every  rebel  bent  the  suppliant  knee, 
And  the  land  3'ou  loved  and  cherished  once  again  was  free. 

You  despise  no  gallant  fellow  who  once  wore  the  blue 
When  it  cost  both  blood  and  treasure  if  a  man  was  true. 
You  forgive  the  trivial  errors  of  that  noble  band, 
And  3'ou  meet  a  loyal  comrade  with  extended  hand. 

You  have  friends  in  ever3"  station  where  your  worth  is  known ; 
You  have  showered  acts  of  kindness  that  but  few  have  known. 
Since  3'our  advent  in  this  prison  you  have  daily  won 
Hearts  that  ever  will  remember  acts  of  kindness  nobly  done. 

Comrade,  time  is  passing  swiftly,  and  Jehovah  his  reveille 
Soon  will  sound  upon  the  hilltops  of  a  vast  eternity*. 
May  we  gather  with  our  comrades  on  that  ever  beautiful  shore 
And,  like   conquering   heroes,   listen  to  Heaven's  plaudits  ever 
more. 


ONE  AND  A  FEW. 


BY  2106'). 


Of  all  the  pet  pleasures  so  pleasing  to  man 
In  his  present  degenerate  state, 

I  doubt  if  there's  a  113-  can  make  him  so  glad 
As  the  one  I'm  about  to  relate. 


While  here  he's  confined  he's  troubled  in  mind 
With  his  "  fifteen  "  or  "  twent3'  "  to  do, 

And  he  longs  for  the  da3'  when  he  boldl3*  can  say: 
"  I've  01113-  got  one  and  a  few." 

Then  keep  a  strong  heart.    With  courage  don't  part, 
But  manfull3'  fight  3'our  wa3'  through; 

Be  it  "  five  "  or  it  "  ten  "  or  twice  that  again, 
'Twill  come  down  to  "  one  and  a  few." 


68  PRISON     POETRY. 

How  often  at  night  when  I  sit  in  my  cell, 
After  working-  quite  hard  all  the  da3~, 

My  memory  g-oes  back  to  the  time  that  I  fell, 
For  the  "bit"  which  I  now  have  to  stay. 

And  sometimes,  I  own,  while  sitting-  alone 

I  feel  sad  and  disconsolate,  too; 
But  it  makes  me  feel  g-ay  when  I  think  I  can  say, 

"  I've  only  got  one  and  a  few." 

Oh,  many's  a  home  that's  cheerless  tonight. 

And  nianj-'s  the  mother  feels  drear; 
\Yhen  she  thinks  of  the  one  far  away  from  her  sig-ht 

It  causes  her  many  a  tear. 

Though  others  ma\r  cleave  to  her,  \-ou  are  the  same; 

Misfortune  but  makes  her  more  true; 
She  may  now  be  quite  sad,  but  won't  she  feel  glad 

When  3'ou've  only  got  "  one  and  a  few  ?" 

Then,  don't  be  discourag-ed.    No  matter  how  long- 
In  this  prison  you  may  have  to  stay, 

You  know  that  to  worrj"  and  fret  is  quite  wrong, 
Far  better  drive  dull  care  away. 

old  Time  is  the  boy  your  "bit"  to  destroy 
As  he  jogs  along-,  contented  and  true; 

And  so,  in  the  end,  you'll  find  he's  the  friend 
That  broug-ht  }-ou  to  "one  and  a  few." 


MIDNIGHT    MUSINGS. 


'Tis  midiiig-ht!     The  sentry's  muffled  tread 

Is  heard  within  these  walls: 
As  silent  as  the  living-  dead 

He  makes  his  reg-ular  calls. 

I  try  to  sleep,  but  all  in  vain ; 

I  try  to  close — I  weep, 
I  hear  that  muffled  tread  ag-ain — 

The  sentries  on  me  peep. 


PRISON    POETRY.  69 

I  hear  a  voice  so  clear  and  plain — 

It  calls  to  me  aloud — 
It  calls  to  me  ag-ain,  again ; 

That  voice  comes  from  a  shroud. 

Hist!     Hist!  vile  heart,  be  still!     No  fear, 

My  ang-el  sister's  voice  I  hear! 
It  speaks  to  me  in  accents  clear 

And  bids  me  shun  a  vile  career. 

She  bids  me  meet  her  once  ag-ain 

And  live  in  Heaven's  fairest  clime. 
Nor  shall  her  pleading-  be  in  vain— 

Resolved,  I'll  do  no  crime. 

Oh,  could  I  feel  her  warm  embrace 
As  when,  in  daj-s  of  old, 

I  irazed  into  her  ang-eled  face- 
It  g-ave  happiness  untold. 

Oh,  let  me  live  my  boyhood  days 

As  in  the  time  g-one  by! 
And  let  me  consecrate  her  ways 

When  for  this  boy  she"d  cry. 

But,  hist!  ag-ain  the  muffled  tread 

Comes  g-liding-,  silent  as  the  dead, 
Along1  the  beat  within  these  walls — 

Hark!     Hark!  ag-ain  dear  sister  calls. 


A    QUERY. 


BY    MORSE. 


When  the  long-  weary  days  are  over 
And  the  front  g-ates  open  to  you, 

Are  you  ag-ain  to  be  a  wild  rover? 
What  are  you  g-oing-  to  do? 


PRISON    POETRY. 

Have  3'ou  plans  or  dreams  for  the  future? 

Have  the  da.ys  any  brig-htness  for  you? 
Will  3'ou  be  a  poor  homeless  creature? 

What  are  ,vou  going  to  do? 

Should  3'our  old-time  friends  forsake  3'ou- 
Those  who  were  strong-  and  true — 

And  leave  you  helpless,  homeless — 
What  are  you  going-  to  do  ? 

But  you  have  one  friend  who  is  faithful. 

Who  is  always  kind  and  true. 
Read  His  word  and  study  His  gospel — 

He'll  tell  you  what  to  do. 


STRAY  THOUGHTS. 


In  the  fathomless  depths  of  the  mighty  deep 
What  wonders  live,  what  mysteries  sleep! 
What  mind  can  name  the  sightless  things 
That  live  in  the  ocean's  hidden  spring.^. 
Where  treasures  heaped  on  treasures  lie, 
Forever  secure  from  the  human  63-6; 
Where  creatures  sport,  that  God  alone 
Can  know  their  joy  or  hear  their  moan  ? 

Who  knows  but  the  bride  of  the  Dublin  Bay 
Ma3'  walk  in  the  ocean's  depths  todays 
Arm  in  arm  with  her  own  dear  Ro3* 
In  the  conscious  flush  of  hone3~moon  303-? 
Who  knows  but  the  hearts  that  sadl3'  3'earned 
For  the  gallant  ship  that  never  returned, 
Have  met,  in  the  ocean's  unknown  bed, 
The  loved,  tho'  lost,  we  all  thoug-ht  dead  ? 

Science  has  proved  the  human  frame 
Is  water  and  salt  by  another  name ! 
Hydrography  3*et  ma3*  teach  mankind 
The  open  door  of  heaven  to  find. 

Jones'  locker  "  ma3r  prove  to  be 


PRISON    POETRY.  71 

Instinct  with  life,  by  death  set  free  ! 
Knew  we  the  tongue  of  the  deep  sea  shell 
What  wondrous  news  its  notes  might  tell! 

The  myriad  stars  in  yonder  skies 
May  be  the  beams  of  death-freed  eyes 
That  watch  us  from  an  unknown  shore, 
Still  faithful  to  the  vows  of  yore! 
The  vaulted  blue  of  heaven  may  be 
The  looking-  glass  of  the  mighty  sea, 
Where  deathless  souls  their  vigils  keep 
O'er  fast  decaying  world,  asleep. 

Atlantis,  the  fabled  city  of  old, 
Whose  gates  inspired  poets  behold, 
May  now  be  resting  beneath  the  wave, 
Triumphant  o'er  a  watery  grave! 
Its  pearly  gates  and  glittering  spires 
Arouse  the  poet's  mad  desires. 
He  sees— and  sings  in  tongue  nnknown— 
The  mysteries  by  the  Muses  shown. 

Conducted  by  a  sybil  fair, 

He  penetrates  each  demon  lair 

And  pictures  hell,  in  golden  speech, 

Beyond  imagination's  reach. 

To  highest  heaven  his  thought  has  flown 

And  measured  and  admired  the  throne; 

Made  angels  bow  beneath  his  rod 

And  dared  to  mould  the  mind  of  God! 

Who  knows  but  legends  the  Muses  tell 
Are  truths  encased  in  a  mighty  dream? 
Who  knows  but  the  angels  of  earth  and  air 
Are  the  beautiful  nymphs  beside  each  stream  ? 
Each  singing  bird  and  nodding  flower 
May  be  imbued  with  potent  power; 
And  stars  an  influence,  too,  may  wield 
And  bless  or  curse  our  natal  hour! 

Who  knows  but  what  we  call  a  brute 
Is  with  immortal  reason  blest? 


72  PRISON    POETRY. 

Who  knows  man  is  alone  divine 
And  destined  to  immortal  rest? 
Theorize  and  reason  as  we  maj-, 
How  little  we  can  reall3*  know; 
We  only  learn  to  live,  then  die. 
And  who  may  say  to  what  we  <ro  ? 


JUDGE    NOT,    LEST    YE    BE    JUDGED. 


BY    SAM    LAW. 

Art  thou  so  g-ood,  so  free  from  sin 
That  thou  should'st  judge  tin*  fellow  men  ? 
Look  well  to  self  before  the  stone, 
Aimed  at  thy  brother's  faults,  be  thrown. 

Behold  in  thee 

A  Pharisee. 

If  thou  art  not  so  low,  perchance  thou'rt  only  so  from 

circumstance; 
Perhaps,  if  tempted,  thou  would'st  fall.    Thy  nature's 

sinful,  after  all. 

Thou  knowesi  not,  most  rigrhteous  scribe. 
The  struggles,  trials,  patience  tried; 
The  battles  fought,  the  vict'ries  grained, 
The  bleeding1  heart,  the  soul  tear-stained, 

More  human  be, 

Have  char it\ -. 


PRISON   POETRY.  73 

THE  CONVICT'S  PRAYER. 


BY  21269. 

At  midnight,  in  a  prison  cell, 
On  bended  knee  the  convict  fell, 
And  poured  in  heaven's  listing-  ear 
A  prayer  for  those  he  held  most  dear. 


Oh,  God;  defend  my  absent  wife, 
Whose  breaking-  heart  and  blig-hted  life. 
Spring-  not  from  conscious  g-uilt  within, 
But  from  a  reckless  husband's  sin. 


Spare  her,  indulgent  heaven,  the  blow, 
That  oft  has  laid  an  ang-el  low; 
Still  may  her  ever  ang-el  face 
Reflect  the  presence  of  Thj-  grace. 


Be  it  well  pleasing-  in  Thy  sight 
That  she  may  rear  my  babes  aright, 
And  teach  them,  in  the  bloom  of  j-outh, 
The  laws  of  kindness  and  of  truth. 


Help  me  discharge,  on  evei^  hand, 
The  duties  right  and  law  demand; 

And  may  I  live  to  dwell  once  more 
Honored  among  the  friend*  of  3*0 re. 


PRISON     POETRY, 

WINE  vs.  WATER 


Tin-re  stood  two  glasses,  tilled  to  the  brim. 
On  a  rich  man's  table,  rim  to  rim, 
One  was  ruddy  and  red  as  blood, 
And  one  as  clear  as  the  crystal  flood. 


Said  the  glass  of  wine  to  the. paler  brother: 

"  Let  us  tell  the  tales  of  the  past  to  each  other. 

I  can  tell  of  banquet,  revel  and  mirth. 

And  the  proudest  and  grandest  souls  on  earth 

Fell  under  my  touch  as  though  struck  by  blight. 

Where  I  was  a  king,  for  I  ruled  in  night. 

From  the  heads  of  king's  I  have  torn  the  crown; 

From  the  heights  of  fame  I  have  hurled  men  down 

1  have  blasted  many  an  honored  name: 

I  have  taken  virtue  and  Driven  shame. 

I  have  tempted  youth  with  a  sip.  a  tasu- 

That  has  made  his  future  a  barren  w:i 

Far  greater  than  a  king-  am  I, 

Or  than  any  army  beneath  the  sky. 

I  have  made  the  arm  of  the  driver  fail. 

And  sent  the  train  from  the  iron  rail. 

I  have  made  good  ships  go  down  at  sea. 

And  the  shrieks  of  the  lost  wen-  sweet  to  me. 

For  they  said,  ""Behold  '   how  great  you  be!  " 

Fame,  strength,  wealth,  genius  before  me  fall. 

For  my  might  and  power  are  over  all. 

Ho!  ho!  pale  brother,''  laughed  the  wine, 

"Can  3'ou  boast  of  deeds  so  great  as  mine?" 


The  water  said  proudly,  "  I  cannot  boast 

Of  a  king  dethroned  or  a  murdered  host: 

But  I  can  tell  of  a  heart  once  sad, 

By  my  crystal  drops  made  light  and  glad — 

Of  thirsts  I  've  quenched,  of  brows  I've  laved; 

Of  hands  I've  cooled  and  souls  I've  saved; 

I  've  leaped  thro'  the  valley-,  dashed  down  the  mountain. 

Formed  beautiful  rivers  and  played  in  fountain, 

Slept  in  the  sunshine  and  dropped  from  the  sky 

And  everywhere  gladdened  the  landscape  and  eye. 

1  "ve  eased  the  hot  forehead  of  fever  and  pain, 


PRISON     POETRY.  7=; 

I''-,  v  made  the  parched  meadows  grow  fertile  with  grain  : 
I  can  tell  of  the  powerful  wheel  of  the  mill 
That  ground,  out  flower  and  turned  at  my  will: 
I  can  tell  of  manhood,  debased  by  you. 
That  I  lifted  up  and  crowned  anew. 
I  cheer,  I  help,  I  strengthen  and  aid; 
I  gladden  the  heart  of  man  and  maid: 
I  set  \-our  close-chained  captive  free 
And  all  are  better  for  knowing-  me." 

These  are  the  tales  they  told  each  other  — 
The  g-lass  <»f  wine  and  its  paler  brother 
As  the}-  sat  together,  filled  to  the  brim. 
On  the  rich  man's  table,  rim  to  rim. 


THE  FALL   OF  SODOM. 


Thou  sin-cursed  city  of  the  stricken  plain. 
Whose  heinous  lust  all  after  time  shall  shame, 
*T  was  thine  to  rouse  Jehovah's  awful  ire. 
And  test  the  strength  of  Heaven's  revengeful  lire 
Thy  senseless  lust  and  crime  had  spread 
Till  virtue,  hope  and  shame  had  tied: 
Degraded  youth  and  tottering  agv 
Could  not  appease  thy  senseless  r;tgv; 
Thy  leacherous  sons,  that  roamed  at  night, 
Were  human  only  to  the  sight; 
Their  motto  was  hell's  direst  fruit: 
"'  Debase  the  man,  exhalt  the  brute  !  " 
One  man  alone  of  all  thy  teeming1  millions  sate. 
Ami  pondered  on  ihy  sin  with  deathless  hate: 
His  righteous  soul  was  vexed  from  day  to  clay. 
And  strove  in  vain  to  turn  you  from  your  way. 
He  dwelt  among-  you  as  a  child  of  God, 
And  in  the  path  of  honored  wredlock  trod. 
Yon,  dead  to  nature  and  to  nature's  voice. 
Spurned  woman  and  made  man  your  choice! 
And  desecrated,  with  3*our  impious  lust, 
The  masterpiece  God  had  formed  from  dust ! 
Till  woman,  shorn  of  all  her  natural  power. 
Was  cast  aside,  like  some  discarded  flower. 


76  PRISON     POETRY. 

And  stormed  insulted  heaven  with  hourly  cry. 

Till  God  beheld  you  with  His  searching-  eye, 

And  sent  His  ang-els  in  aveng-ing-  haste 

Your  sin  to  punish  and  your  land  to  waste'. 

The  son  of  Horan  met  these  at  the  g-ate, 

And  beg-g-ed  them  at  his  frug-al  board  to  wait; 

At  first  refused,  they  after  turn  aside. 

And  'neath  a  righteous  roof  content  abide. 

They  share  his  food  and  list  with  eag-er  ear 

As  Lot  recounts  each  nightly  scene  of  fear; 

When  lust  runs  riot  in  the  open  streets, 

And  man  with  man  in  strange  communion  meets. 

The  men  of  Sodom  learn,  with  kindling-  eye, 

The  stranger's  presence,  and  in  haste  draw  nig-h. 

Men.  young-  and  old,  with  equal  ardor  burn, 

And,  with  unholy  lust,  towards  these  strangvrs  yearn. 

The\-  call  the  patriarch  with  an  angry  shout, 

And  bid  him  bring-  the  hallowed  strangvrs  out, 

That  they  may  satisfy  their  lawless  lust 

And  trample  decency  in  sinful  dust. 

He,  taught  from  infancy  in  Mosaic  Law, 

Reg-arded  heaven's  Hig-h  Ruler  still  with  awe; 

And  shuddered  with  indig-nant  fear 

As  these  vile  shouts  assailed  his  ear. 

He  left  his  house  and  closed  the  door  behind. 

And  to  the  rabble  thus  he  eased  his  mind: 

"  Ye  men  of  Sodom!  once  in  life  do  rig-ht, 

Nor  do  this  wickedness  in  heaven's  sig-ht! 

Two  virg-in  daughters  "neath  my  roof  reside. 

Till  now  a  father's  care  and  mother's  pride; 

Take  them  and  do  whatever  you  deem  rig-ht. 

Hut  lay  no  impious  hand  upon  my  g-uests  tonig'ht. 

The  laws  of  hospitality,  by  Moses  taug-ht, 

Harms  not  a  strang-er  whom  our  roof  has  soug-ht. 

They  know  the  law,  who  now  reside  within, 

And  with  horror  view  your  awful  sin!  " 

"•  Ye  men  of  Sodom!  who  this  strang-er  g-ave 

The  rig-lit  to  judg-e  us  and  our  will  to  brave? 

We  kindly  took  a  homeless  wanderer  in, 

And  dare  he  brand  our  greatest  pleasure  sin  ? 

Shall  empty  words  defy  our  proud  behest, 

Or  useless  offering-  prevent  our  g-uest? 

Ten  thousand  l  No's "  will  pierce  his  dastard  breast. 

And  treat  him  tenfold  worse  than  all  the  rest!" 


PRISON     POETRY. 

Thus  spake  their  leader,  and  with  angry  roar 

The  o'er  wrought  friends  assail  the  door; 

Lot,  backward  hurled,  could  hardly  stand. 

Till  snatched  within  by  angel  hand, 

The  maddened  crowd  no  longer  wait, 

But  headlong-  rush  to  meet  their  fate! 

The  ready  angels  rise,  with  godlike  mind, 

And  strike  the  guilt}-  wretches  blind; 

In  vain  they  strive  to  reach  and  force  the  door. 

Their  useless  orbs  are  blasted  evermore! 

*'  (TO  seek  thy  children,  Lot,  in  eager  haste, 

And  bid  them  not  a  precious  moment  waste. 

God  will  destroy  this  sin-accursed  place, 

And  wipe  from  earth  its  faintest  trace!  " 

Lot,  thus  commanded,  found  each  one  that  night, 

And  faithfully  portrayed  their  awful  plight; 

But  he,  to  them,  seemed  as  a  man  that  mocked, 

And  left  them  sorely  grieved  and  doubly  shocked. 

The  morn  arose !     The  ang-els  cautioned  Lot 

To  wife  and  daughters  take  and  tarry  not; 

And  as  they  ling-ered  took  them  by  the  hand 

And  led  them  from  the  endang-ered  land. 

"  Flee  to  the  mountains  and  no  hind'rance  brook, 

Nor  backward  turn  a  long,  admiring-  look. 

The  wretch  who  dares  this  mandate  to  def  j 

Shall,  'neath  Jehovah's  hand,  in  torture  die!  " 

This  stern  command  was  heard  by  trembling-  Lot 

With  deep  repugnance,  for  it  pleased  him  not. 

•"Nay,  11113-,  mJ  lord;  but  if  before  thy  face 

Thy  trembling  servant  dares  to  plead  for  grace, 

Command  me  that  I  now  ma3"  turn  aside 

And  in  your  little  city  safe  reside. 

Thus  may  I  keep  my  soul  alive  this  day 

Nor  after  fall  to  mountain  beasts  a  prey." 

The  heavenly  strangers,  with  an  august  nod, 

Agree  to  lift  from  Zoar  Jehovah's  rod. 

The  rescued  quartette  Zoarward  bend, 

While  hope  and  fear  alternate  tend. 

With  mien  majestic,  yes,  with  hasty  tread, 

Their  trembling  flight  their  aged  father  led. 

Next  came  the  virgins,  able  scarce  to  stand, 

And  followed  by  their  mother,  last  of  all  the  band. 

She  yet  to  Sodom  and  its  idols  clave, 

And  dared  Jehovah's  awful  wrath  to  brave; 


77 


-(s  PRISON     POETRY. 

One  look  she  sought,  her  weary  journey  to  beguile. 
And  in  a  moment  stood  transfixed — a  Salty  Pile  ! 
The  more  obedient  trio  onward  fly, 
Until  the  opening-  gates  of  Zoar  greet  the  eye. 
Now,  with  full  hearts.  the3*  reach  the  calm  retreat. 
And  cordial  welcome  from  King  Bela  meet. 

KXI)    OF    FIRST    CANTO. 


THE  FALL  or  SODOM— CANTO  SECOND. 

From  Hera's  palace,  and  from  Sodom's  shrine. 

A  thousand  scintillating  rays  of  beauty  shine; 

The  gorgeous  parapets  of  beaten  burnished  gold 

Enlightened  fancy  can  with  awe  behold. 

Those  marble  walls  of  rainbow-tinted  hue, 

1'h-ase  and  instruct  and  yet  astound  the  view. 

Each  curve  of  beauty  and  each  line  of  grace 

Relau-s  some  annal  of  the  ancient  place. 

Upon  these  sculptured  walls  each  Sodomite  may  trace 

The  birthplace  and  the  lineage  of  his  entire  race. 

He  here  may  read,  in  many  a  flowing  line. 

The  maiden  efforts  of  the  Tuneful  Nine. 

Who  first  appeared  and  strung  the  quivering  lyre. 

When  new  created  stars  their  Maker's  praise  aspire: 

Theirs  is  the  music  of  the  quick  revolving  spheres. 

And  theirs  the  power  to  bathe  a  world  in  tears. 

They  paint  in  colors,  dipped  in  liquid  truth, 

The  brow  of  beauty  and  the  lip  of  \*outh. 

Thought,  tame  in  prose  in  their  enchanting  line. 

Is  dressed  in  beauty  and  is  half  divine. 

They  wing  love's  arrows  with  consumate  art, 

And  make  the  melting  music  of  the  heart. 

Youth  they  instruct  and  tottering-  age.  sustain. 

Virtue  exalt  and  hideous  voice  restrain. 

Inside  this  palace  life  is  but  a  dream 

Of  beauty,  flowing  in  a  constant  stream. 

Here  silken  curtains  hang  on  wires  of  gold, 

And  zephyr-satin,  whose  capacious  fold 

Ten  thousand  giddy  turns  and  windings  lake 

The  secret  chambers  of  the  place  to  make. 

Each  article  of  comfort  man  can  know 

With  priceless  gems  and  flashing  colors  glow: 


PRISON     POETRY. 

Each  drinking  vessel  is  a  solid  gem; 

Each  odorous  flower  grows  on  a  parent  stem ; 

Birds  of  bright  plumag-e  raise  their  tuneful  note 

And  scatter  scents  ambrosial  as  they  float. 

The  crystal  fountains  g-enerous  wine  dispense, 

And  food  delicious  satisfies  the  sense; 

The  air  is  balmy  as  the  breath  of  spring-, 

And  every  atom  is  a  beauteous  thing-. 

One  thing-  alone  this  might}"  place  appalls: 

No  woman  dwells  within  these  sculptured  walls. 

Here  man  with  man  in  lustful  caprice  plays, 

And  Heaven's  righteous  mandate  disobeys; 

Sinks,  through  his  lust,  below  the  groveling"  beas"t, 

Who  to  the  female  makes  his  amorous  suit. 

Within  those  walls  are  stores  of  untold  wealth, 

Secured  by  carnage  and  by  midnig-ht  stealth; 

Beneath  each  divan  and  each  downy  couch 

The  smouldering-  fires  of  retribution  crouch. 

Each  glittering-  tankard  and  each  costly  plate 

Reflects  the  fierceness  of  each  pending-  fate. 

The  quenchless  tortures  of  Jehovah's  wrath 

Is  earthward  tending-  in  a  destined  path! 

The  brilliant  sun  of  light,  the  mighty  sire, 

Seems  bathed  in  blood  and  heaven  's  all  afire. 

From  pole  to  pole  the  livid  lightnings  Hash 

Till  all  creation  trembles  'neath  the  crash; 

And  earthward,  still,  the  melting  heavens  bend, 

While  blinding  floods  of  hissing  flames  descend, 

And  seas  of  lava,  with  three  mighty  bounds, 

The  now  doomed  city  and  the  plain  surrounds. 

Now,  inward  flowing,  rolls  the  mighty  tide, 

On  whose  dread  billows  death  alone  can  ride; 

And  upward  rising,  with  tremendous  sweep, 

Its  molten  billows  awful  union  keep 

With  floods  descending  from  the  flaming  sky, 

And  Sodom  knows  her  hour  has  come  to  die! 

Her  frightened  millions  in  a  circle  band, 

And  view  approaching  death  on  every  hand. 

Around  them  rolls  a  sea  of  fire; 

Above  them  flames  the  torch  of  Heaven's  ire: 

While  hissing  lava,  in  descending  rain, 

Creates  new  horror  and  gives  birth  to  pain. 

Each  gorgeous  palace  and  each  mart  of  trade 

Is  buried  for  their  wickedness  and  in  ashes  laid. 


79 


8o 


PRISON    POETRY. 


In  vain  they  call  their  idols,  name  b.v  name, 
Their  garments  all  are  wrapt  in  living-  flame, 
Their  quivering-  bodies  tortured  to  the  bone, 
Their  parched  lips  in  vain  assay  a  moan. 
Their  eyes  still  pleading-  with  each  bated  breath 
Not  for  forg-iveness,  but  for  instant  death! 

The  circling-  oceans,  with  resounding-  roar, 
Meet  and  comming-le — and  the  scene  is  o'er' 


PRISON    POETRY.  8 1 

A    TRIBUTE    TO 
THE    WOLFE    SISTERS. 


Music,  the  sweetest  all-inspiring-  gift  of  God. 

Is  ever  welcome  to  the  prisoner's  ear; 
There's  nothing-  makes  me  feel  half  so  well 

As  music  of  the  heart  when  sung-  with  cheer. 

Here  in  this  prison  as  I  sit  and  pore 

Over  the  past  and  present  of  my  life, 
My  heart  sing's  ever,  o'er  and  o'er, 

The  darkest  bitterness  of  a  prisoner's  strife. 

But  hark!  in  yonder  chapel  shrine 

I  hear  sweet  music  as  of  3'ore; 
I  ask,  "  What  music  is  that  sounds  so  fine?" 

The  answer  conies,  "  The  Wolfes  are  at  the  door!" 

I  hasten,  then,  to  brush  my  prison  g-arb, 
And  toilet  try  to  fix  as  best  I  can, 
And  then  unto  the  chapel  wend  my  way; 
When  there  upon  the  rostrum  stand 

Five  of  the  sweetest  singers  of  our  day  ! 

There's  Amy  Wolfe,  who  chaiig-ed  her  name  to  Brooks; 
She  leads  her  choir  without  the  aid  of  books. 
She  sing's  with  voice  so  sweet  and  delicate 
That  to  her,  First  Soprano  I  dedicate- 
Next,  Minnie  S.,  at  the  ag-e  of  twentjT-three, 
Sing-s  like  a  lark  and  busy  as  a  bee, 
Carefully  guarding-  that  no  mistakes  are  made, 
And  handles  her  bewitching  voice  with  harmony  well  staid. 

Then  sang-  the  sweet  ZoraArdo  F.,  with  baritone  most  clear, 
Who,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  delights  to  bring-  us  cheer. 
It  seems  as  if  her  heart  and  soul  were  bent  on  doing-  right, 
And  when  she  sang  she  sang  so  sweet— Oh!  it  was  out  of  sight. 


S2  PRISON     POETRY. 

The  next  I  saw  was  Lyda  M.,  with  scarlet  cheeks  aglow; 
She  sing's  with  voice  most  charming-,  a  clear  and  sweet  alto, 
She's  next  the  younger  of  them  all,  because  she's  just  eig-hteen, 
She  captivates  the  heart  of  man — what  a  fairy  little  Queen  ! 

Then  last,  not  least,  the  little  one,  that  is,  Miss  Kittie  C., 
She  just  so  busy  when  she  sings  she's  like  a  honey  bee. 
Her  eyes  are  clear  as  crystal,  her  locks  are  flowing-  gold, 
She  sings  soprano  quite  as  fine  as  any  I  have  told. 

I  sat  down  in  an  empt3'  seat  close  by  the  outside  door, 
And  listened  to  such  warbling-  as  I  never  heard  before. 
Their  voices  drowned  all  sorrow  and  g-ushed  forth  many  a  tear, 
-\ol  for  horror  that  I  felt — it  brought  me  real  .good  cheer. 

The3T  drove  awa^v  the  pain  of  woe,  that  none  but  prisoners  smart; 
They  sang  the  ever  blessed  song- — true  music  of  the  heart. 
We  doff  our  striped  caps  to  you,  O  girls  of  sweetest  song, 
And  may  we  bid  3rou  be  our  friends  and  return  again  ere  long. 

Adieu,  adieu,  our  lad \  friends,  do  not  now  saj-  "farewell," 
Because  we  wish  you  all  return  with  song  too  sweet  to  tell. 
Come  back!  come  back  again  and  sing  some  lovely  Sabbath  day, 
For  your  presence  here  to  sing  good  cheer  we  all  will  ever  pray. 

And  now  unto  the  aged  Wolfes  please  let  me  saj-  one  word: 
Your  home  must  be  a  palace  filled  with  sirenic  g-ood; 
Proud  may  you  feel — and  justly,  too — of  these  five  daughters  fair, 
And  great  the  good  they've  done  for  us  while  in  this  prison  lair. 

There's  but  one  wish   that  emanates  from  a  prisoner's  wicked 

heart, 

That  is  to  say,  without  delay,  "  Ma}-  heaven  take  their  part, 
And  to  them  bring  eternal  joy  that  '11  pierce  them  like  a  dart!" 
Each  song  they  sing  is  welcome  here — a  masterpiece  of  art! 

And  now  to  part  we  sadly  must  (while  I  'm  immersed  in  prison 

dust), 
But  hoping-,  too,  'twill  not  be  long  ere  you  return  with  sweetest 

song-.     Adieu!     Adieu! 


PRISON   POETRY. 
PRISONERS. 


God  pity  the  wretched  prisoners 
In  their  lonely  cells  today; 

Whatever  the  sins  that  tripped  them, 
God  pity  them  still,  I  say. 


Only  a  strip  of  sunshine 
Cleft  03-  rust}-  bars ; 

Only  a  patch  of  azure, 
Only  a  cluster  of  stars. 


Once  the}-  were  little  children, 
And  perhaps  their  wayward  feet 

Were  led  by  a  gentle  mother 
Toward  the  g-olden  street. 


Therefore,  if  in  life's  forest 
They  since  have  lost  their  way, 

Whatever  the  sins  that  tripped  them, 
God  pity  them  still,  I  say. 


84  PRISON    POETRY. 

Two  LETTERS. 


BY    GEO.   W.    H.   HARRISON. 


I  wrote  a  letter  while  jealous  rage 
In  my  bosom  reigned  supreme; 

The  words  were  fraught  with  anger, 
And  a  loathsome  disesteem. 

They  fell  on  the  pure  white  paper 
And  marred  its  stainless  pa.u'e, 

Yet  eased  my  maddened  spirit, 
And  appeased  my  senseless  rage. 

I  gloatingly  tho't  of  the  dumb  despair 
That  letter  would  surel}-  give, 

To  one  who  had  broken  her  faithful  vows 
In  a  wa3T  I  could  never  forgive. 

I  doubted  not  the  perfect  truth 

Of  all  I  heard  them  say; 
She,  like  other  girls,  was  false 

While  her  lover  was  away. 

I  knew  she  vowed  she  wouid  be  true 

While  life  itself  would  last, 
Yet  thought  that  she,  like  others, 

Too  soon  forgot  the  past. 

I  hastily  sealed  the  cruel  note, 

And  placed  it  next  ni3T  heart, 
Determined  upon  the  morrow 

To  give  it  an  early  start. 

I  threw  myself  upon  the  couch 

And  sought  for  sweet  repose, 
And  in  my  restless  slumbers 

A  vision  then  arose: 

I  saw  in  that  terrible  vision 
A  woman  whose  eager  face 


PRISON    POETRY.  85 

Beamed  with  3'earning-,  restless  love 
As  her  trembling-  fingers  traced 

A  message  of  love  and  tenderness 

To  her  loved  one  far  away, 
As  her  pure  lips  quietly  murmured, 

"  God  grant  we  must  some  day !" 

She  sealed  her  letter  with  dainty  hands, 

And  laid  it  by  with  tender  care; 
Then  humbly  kneeled  beside  her  bed, 

And  poured  her  soul  in  prayer. 

She  pra3red  for  her  impassioned  lover 

In  a  warm,  impassioned  strain, 
That  proved  her  heart  both  warm  and  true 

And  free  from  guilt  or  stain. 

She  arose  from  her  kneeling1  posture 

To  answer  a  call  at  her  door; 
She  smiled  as  she  saw  the  letter 

The  hand  of  the  servant  bore. 

One  glance  she  gave — then  burst  the  seal 

With  trembling-,  eager  haste, 
And  rapidl3T  heard  the  cruel  words 

My  reckless  hand  had  traced. 

Her  lovely  face  turned  death ly  pale 

As  she  wildly  clutched  the  air. 
She  tottered  and  fell— a  senseless  heap— 

A  prey  to  dumb  despair. 

So  still  she  lay  I  deemed  her  dead, 

And  sprang-  to  raise  her  in  my  arms. 
I  loved  her  with  the  old,  wild  love, 

And  bowed  to  her  peerless  charms. 

"Speak!  darling-,  speak!"  I  wildly  cried. 

"Pray,  come  back  from  the  voiceless  shore. 
I  cannot,  dare  not  live  an  hour, 

Unless  I  hear  your  voice  once  more!" 


86  PRISON     POETRY. 


She  opened  wide  her  lovel}-  eyes, 
And  cast  on  me  one  lingering  glance 

So  full  of  injured  innocence 
It  smote  me  like  a  lance. 

I  seized  the  heartless  letter, 

Curst  cause  of  all  ni3'  shame, 
And,  with  one  imprecation, 

Consig-ned  it  to  the  flame. 

She  watched  me  with  a  languid  smile, 

And  pointed  to  her  heart: 
"  You  have  destroyed  the  proof,"  she  said, 

"But  can  you  ease  the  smart?*' 

"  I  have  been  true  to  all  my  vows, 

Heaven  judge  me  if  I  lie! 
But  since  you  deem  me  to  be  false, 

Go — leave  me  here — to  die!*' 

At  last  I  woke  and  quickl3"  drew 
The  accursed  sheet  from  my  breast — 

Burning-  it  with  a  read y  hand— 
And  gentl3'  sank  to  rest. 

I  wrote  another,  whose  tender  words 
Were  soft  as  the  ripple  of  a  stream; 

And  thought  what  a  contrast  it  would  be 
To  the  letter  she  read  in  my  dream! 

And  my  darling  greatlj-  wonders 
Wh3r  m3r  letters  with  tenderness  teem, 

Since  I  have  never  told  her 
Of  the  letter  she  read  in  my  dream. 


PRISON    POETRY.  87 

A  PRAYER  FOR  JUSTICE. 


Oh.  God  in  heaven  up  on  high, 

How  long-  this  cruel  strife? 

Must  I  but  perish  in  this  den 

To  end  this  wretched  life? 

Is  there  no  justice  here  on  earth  ? 

Must  truth  remain  crushed  down 

And  vile  and  wicked,  cruel  man 

Forever  look  and  frown  ? 

Is  there  no  power  to  bring-  to  light 

The  truth  of  my  offense? 

Must  perjury  and  bribery 

Prevail  forever  hence? 

Can  enemies,  vile,  cruel  things, 

Twist  truth  all  out  of  shape, 

And  cause  one  who  's  not  guilty 

To  morally  wear  death's  crepe? 

Oh,  God!  is  there  no  remedy 

For  earthly  subjects  thus 

To  be  relieved  from  wretched  pain 

Without  this  earthly  fuss? 

Oh,  God !  to  Thee  we  call  for  help. 

Wil't  thou  but  listen— hear? 

Look  down  upon  me  as  I  be, 

My  innocence  thou  'It  surely  see, 

These  shackles,  bolts,  and  prison  bars, 

The  heavy  locks  and  massive  key — 

Hear,  Oh,  God!  Oh,  hear  my  prayer 

And  set  this  captive  free. 


88  PRISON   POETRY. 

BIRTHDAY  MUSINGS. 


BY   G.    W.    VAN   WEIGHS. 


Just  sixt}-  years  ago  todaj- 

Mine  eyes  first  saw  the  light; 
Now  age.  with  ever  onward  tread, 

Presages  coming-  night. 

Ah!  is  it  nig-ht?    Or  shall  it  be 
That  morning's  lig-ht  shall  break, 

And  from  1113-  soul  such  music  bring- 
As  earth  could  never  wake? 

Where  are  the  friends  of  earlier  years- 

Sleep  the}-  to  wake  no  more  ? 
Or  do  the3T  walk  with  joyful  tread 

Heaven's  ever  radiant  shore  ? 

If  death  is  but  oblivion's  gate, 

Why  younger  grows  the  soul  with  years 
Whose  are  the  faces  that  we  see 

When  melts  the  hearts  in  tears? 

i 

Oh,  whence  the  strains  the  soul  can  hear 

When  all  is  hushed  in  sleep, 
And  none,  save  God  and  ang-els,  near 

When  souls  their  vigils  keep? 


Is  all  religion  but  a 

Are  all  our  hopes  in  vain? 
Is  heaven  affectation's  child, 

Born  of  disordered  brain  ? 

Tell  me  not  such  bolts  and  bars 
Can  keep  me  from  the  skies; 

I  'd  sooner  deem  3ron  blushing  rose 
A  sat3'r  in  disguise. 


PRISOIf    -POETRY. 

A    TRIBUTE    TO 
THE    WOLFE    SISTERS. 


89 


BY   GEO.   W.    H.    HAKKISON. 


Come,  O  come,  ye  radiant  sisters,  heaven  nomered  "Tuneful 
Nine," 

Smooth  my  ever  rugged  numbers  and  inspire  my  drooping-  line. 

Aid  my  muse  to  tell  the  storjT,  never  breathed  to  mortal  ear, 

How  this  sweet  ang-elic  chorus  happens  to  be  lingering-  near. 

In  yon  fair  and  blissful  aiden,  far  beyond  the  faintest  star, 

Once  the  guardian  angels  slumbered,  leaving  heaven's  gates  ajar ! 

And  five  wandering-  seraphs  wandered,  in  their  rapid,  noiseless 
flight, 

Thro'  the  g-ates,  whose  vaulted  arches  echoed  paeans  of  delig-ht! 

Quick  as  thought  their  tireless  pinions  clave  the  unresisting-  air, 

Till  they  reached  the  five  Wolfe  sisters,  maids  of  form  and  fea- 
tures fair, 

And  within  these  hearts  the}-  ling-ered,  tuning-  ever}'  chord  to 
song-. 

Till  the  pathos  of  their  music  stilled  the  ever  restless  throng-! 

Earth  and  heaven  stood  astonished  and  Jehovah's  love  decreed: 

"  Let  them  sta}- !  such  strains  seraphic  mortal  being-s  can  but 
heed!" 

Have  j-ou   heard   their  wondrous   music?     Have  you  felt  their 

sweet  control  ? 
If   not,  friend,  3*ou  've  scarcely  sounded  half   the  nn'steries  of 

your  soul! 

Amy,  soul-enrapturing-  artist,  sweetly  sounds  the  soft  prelude, 
And  beneath  her  skilfull  fing-ers  ever}-  note,  with  life  imbued, 
Stills  the  throng-,  whose  ver}-  silence  is  an  encore  loud  and  deep, 
And  each  thought,  save  that  of  music,  is  forgotten  or  asleep. 
Katherine's   rich   and   full  suprano,  like  the  Autumn's   mellow 

morn, 

Wakes  the  slumbering-  soul  to  action  like  the  practiced  hunts- 
man's horn! 

Mamie's  soft,  melodious  voice  nobly  takes  the  second  part, 
And  the  pathos  of  her  music  captivates  the  raptured  heart ! 
Lida's  faultless  second  alto  deepens  all  the  noble  strain 
Till  the  mind  forg-ets  its  madness  and  the  heart  rejects  in  pain. 


90  PRISON     POETRY. 

Then  Zoraj-do's  matchless  voice  sweeps  the  soul  along- 

Till  we  know  that  perfect  music  can  be  breathed  in  earthly  song  ! 

Hear,  O   hear   the   melting-   music   pouring-   from  each   heaving- 

breast; 
How  it  wakes  the  heart  to  rapture!     How  it  soothes  the  soul  to 

rest! 

When  they  sing1,  such  lovel}-  visions  seem  to  rise  and  grandl}- 

float 

Like  the  poet's  air}-  mansions,  on  the  wave  of  each  full  note! 
Silvery  daybreaks  brighten  slow;    sunsets  blush  on  mountain 

snow ! 
Moonlight  shivers  on  the  open  sea;   Autumn  burns  in  bush  and 

tree; 

Blowing-  willows  bend  and  sig-h;  whispering-  rivers  wander  b_v; 
Thro'  the  pines  sweep  sea-tones  soft;    sailing-  birds  shout  loud 

aloft; 

Strang-e  notes  beat  the  lambent  air;  visions  float  divinel}*  fair; 
Vanished  faces  come  and  g-o;  silenced  voices  murmur  low; 
Gentlest  memories  come  and  cling1,  as  we  listen  and  they  sing. 

Oh,  repeat  the  music's  tale,  "  Love  shall  perish  not   nor  fail  T' 
We  forg-et  the  fear  of  death — breathe,  in  tho't.  immortal  breath! 
We  believe  in  broadening-  truth;    trust  the  g-enerous  creeds  of 

youth; 

Feel  consoling-  hopes  that  climb  up  to  some  triumphant  clime, 
And  sweet  dreams  of  splendor  bring-  as  we  listen  and  they  sing  ! 

Walls  of  rock  and  bars  of  steel  wre  can  neither  see  nor  feel; 

We  forg-et  our  dire  disgrace;  disreg-ard  both  time  and  place; 

Bid  all  angry  passion  sleep  and  profoundest  silence  keep! 

Hoard  the  trembling-  notes  that  fall  like  an  ang-el  mother's  call; 

Rise  above  our  low  estate  and  forg-et  the  wrong's  of  fate! 

We  forg-ive  our  mortal  foes,  source  of  all  our  man}-  woes, 

And  penance  itself  loses  half  its  sting-,  as  zue  listen  and  they  sing! 

Ma.y  the  God  of  love  and  truth  give  them  all  the  joys  of  youth; 
May  the  raptures  they  impart  ever  thrill  each  noble  heart; 
Ma}T  their  ministry  of  love  lead  all  erring-  ones  above; 
May  wealth,  happiness  and  303*  all  their  waiting-  hours  emploj-; 
Be  their  cares  both  lig-ht  and  few  and  their  pleasures  ever  new; 
And  their  lives  one  dream  of  ease  till  their  "ship  comes  o'er  the 


PRISON     POETRY.  91 

Let  fate  oft  their  presence  bring-,  and  we'll  listen  while  they  sing  ! 
Gentle  sisters,  take  this  tribute  poured  from  imprisoned  hearts; 
You  have  eased  their  maddening-  torture,  you  have  sta3'ed  the 

cruel  darts 
That  remorse  and  shame  have  driven  deep  within  each  captive 

soul. 
Suffer  them  3'our  names  to  graven  on  fond  memory's  deathless 

scroll; 

Be  assured  3Tour  seeds  of  kindness  shall  not  fall  on  stoii3r  ground, 
Man3"   of    3'our  willing-  converts   have   both   peace   and   pardon 

found! 
And,  when  all  your  work  is  ended,  3*ou  in  heaven  shall  fondly 

greet 
Some  whose  hearts  were  first  enlightened  b3'  3*our  anthems  clear 

and  sweet. 


To  A  DEPARTED  IDOL 


BY   G.    \V.    VAN    WEIGHS. 


Thou  art  not  dead,  thou  art  not  g-one  to  dust. 
No  line  of  all  thy  loveliness  shail  fall 

To  formless  ruin,  smote  b3r  time  and  thrust 
Into  the  solemn  gulf  that  covers  all. 

Thou  canst  not  perish.     Tho'  the  sod 
Sink  with  its  violets  closer  to  tin-  breast, 

Tho'  b3'  the  feet  of  generations  trod 
The  loadstone  crumbles  from  th3'  place  of  rest. 

The  marvel  of  th3'  beauty  cannot  die; 

The  sweetness  of  thy  presence  shall  not  fade; 
Earth  g-ave  not  all  the  grlor3r  of  thine  e3*e; 

Death  cannot  smite  what  earth  ne'er  made. 

It  was  not  thine,  that  marble  forehead  pale  and  cold, 
Nor  those  dumb  lips  the3'  laid  beneath  the  snow; 
3'  heart  would  throb  beneath  that  passive  fold; 
Thy  hands,  for  me,  that  ston3r  clasp  foreg-o. 


92 


PRISON     POETRY. 


But  tlwu  hast  gone.    Gone  from  this  dreary  land; 

Gone  from  the  storms  let  loose  on  every  hill; 
Lured  by  the  sweet  pursuasion  of  a  band 

That  leads  thee,  somewhere,  in  the  distance  still. 

Where  e'er  thou  art,  I  know  thou  wearest  yet 
The  same  bewitching-  beauts-,  sanctified 

By  calmer  joy,  and  touched  with  soft  reg-ret 
For  him  who  seeks  but  cannot  reach  thy  side. 

I  keep  for  thee  the  living1  love  of  old, 
And  seek  thy  place  in  nature,  as  a  child 

Whose  hand  is  parted  from  its  playmate's  hold 
Wanders  and  cries  along-  a  lonesome  wild. 

When,  in  the  watches  of  my  heart,  I  hear 
The  messag-es  of  purer  life  and  know 

The  footsteps  of  thy  spirit  ling-ering-  near, 
Life's  darkness  hides  the  way  I  fain  would  g-o. 

Canst  thou  not  bid  the  empty  realms  restore 
That  form,  the  s>-mbol  of  thy  heavenly  part? 

Or  in  the  barren  fields  of  silence  pour 
That  voice,  the  perfect  music  of  thy  heart  ? 

Oh,  once — once  bending-  to  my  warm  and  eag-er  lips, 
Take  back  the  tender  warmth  of  life  from  me, 

Or  let  th3"  kisses  cloud  with  swift  eclipse 
The  light  of  mine,  and  give  me  death  with  thee. 


PRISON    POETRY.  93 

ACROSTIC  To  WARDEN  AND  MRS.  E.  G.  COFFIN. 


±ilijah  of  old  ancient  times  was  a  man  of  many,  many  minds! 
.JLong-  did   he   live  in  noble  deeds,  in  dealing-  comfort  to   men's 

needs. 
J  n  these,  our  modern,  modest  days,  all  men  have  greatly  changed 

their  wa3's — 

Jehovah's  laws  do  not  control  the  wickedness  of  every  soul. 
Jill  those  who  know  as  well  as   I   while  on  this  earth  will   not 

decry 
i^e  who  will  bad  men  reform — Hail,  Coffin!  who  for  us  was  born! 


i^odfrey  is  his  second    name,  and  now  he  reaps  most  enviable 
fame: 

liur  watchword  is  both  da3T  and  nig-hts — while  o'er  him  floats  the 
Stars  and  Stripes — 

"  Xio  unto  us  as  you  would  choose,  that  others    do  to   you   and 
yours! " 

j'aithful  to  her  life-long1  trust,  a  wife,  a  mother,  true  and  just, 

to  help  both  maid  and  man  and  lend  an  ever  helping- 
hand— 

day  and  nig-ht   they  toil  and  pray  for   boys  and   girls   to 
mend  their  way, 

'Jet   they  do  not  toil   all    in  vain    for   the  great  g-ood   done  the 
human  train. 


"Coffin"  is  a  word  some  shun,  for  it  takes  man  when  on  earth 

he's  done 
lint  to  the  churchyard  laid  in  clay,  for  ag-es  sanctioned  such  a 

way. 
;ror  us  poor  sinners  here  in  "hell"  a  Coffin  sent  makes  us  feel 

well', 


94 


PRISON     POETRY. 


^i'or  often  he  does  ease  the  pains  we  feel  in  both  our  hearts  and 

brains. 
J  11  endless  303'  may  the3'  have  peace  for  kindness  the}-  have  done 

to  us — 
£|ot  one  of  us,  though  cursed  with  sin,  will  e'er  forget  our  friends 

Coffin. 


CANTO  SECOND— LAST,  BUT  NOT  LEASTS 


she  is  of  the  Coffin  shrine,  and  so  it's  been  for  3~ears  of 

time! 

,1.11  hoU*  wedlock  girls  and  bo3*s  have  been  the  idols  of  their  jo3~s! 
^he  bids  her  Lord  Elijah  bide  a  faithful  servant  b3'  her  side, 
1<>  aid  her  with  a  helping-  hand  to  raise  poor,  wretched,  fallen 

man. 
2jeal  sympathy  for  the  prisoner's  woe,  she  seeds  of  comfort  tries 

to  sow 

lire  long  before  it  is  too  late  to  save  poor  sinner  from  his  fate; 
>_ilK>   "cookies"    make,  with   pearls  all  set,   and   puts  them   in 

Elijah's  hat, 
xihe  then  does  send  him  on  his  wa3",  while  for  the  prisoner  she 

does  pra\-. 


^jTary  silentl3-  did  keep  the  watch  o'er  Christ  while  he  did  sleep; 
X'hl  her  protege  she  will  save  if  her  I<ord  will  help  her  brave 
Roaring  storms  of  vice  and  ire,  kindled  b3*  a  vengeful  fire! 
"X ou  may  guess  for  all  the  rest,  let  me  sa3~  SHE  'LL  DO  HER  BEST! 


Ooffins,  to  3rou  let  us  turn!  and  all  crime  forever  spurn! 
ilnl3'  aid  us  in  this  strife  to  fight  manfull3"  for  life. 


PRISON    POETRY. 


95 


jTather  Elijah!  Mother  Mary!  for  our  welfare  do  not  tarry! 
J/ear  you  not!  for  the  good  you've  done  has  saved  many  a  fallen 

one! 
Xn  our  hearts  we  oft  despair  as  we  linger  in  this  lair — 

for  long  tho'  when  we've  seen — Father  Elijah  and  Mary, 
his  Queen  > 


A   PRISON  VISION. 


BY   GEO.   W.    H.    HARRISON. 


'Tis  midnight  in  these  prison  walls, 
And  even  the  sentry's  muffled  tread 

Sepulchral  sounds,  as  if  he  trod 
The  silent  confines  of  the  dead. 


In  vain  I  close  my  weary  eyes, 

I  cannot  sleep  tonight; 
I  hear  an  angel's  rustling  wings 

Fresh  from  the  realms  of  light. 


A  sacred  presence  haunts  the  air, 
A  messenger  from  Heaven's  own  land; 

And  memory  awakes  again, 
Touched  by  an  angel's  wand. 


I  seem  to  hear,  deep  in  my  soul, 
The  music  of  a  heavenly  choir, 

While  each  pulsation  of  my  heart 
Awakes  in  me  the  old  desire 


To  see  once  more  that  lovely  form 
Death  vanished  in  my  arms; 

To  hear  again  her  melting  voice 
And  revel  in  her  charms. 


96  PRISON    POETRY 

To  feel  the  tender,  soft  caress 
Of  a  loved  tho'  vanished  hand, 

And  hear  from  her  departed  lips 
The  nn'steries  of  that  land 


That  lies  beyond  Time's  rug-g-ed  shore, 
To  all  unknown,  save  those 

Whom  ang-els  capture  for  the  skies 
At  life's  uncertain  close. 


I  muse  ag-ain,  with  loving-  thought. 
Of  a  sinless  wife  long  dead, 

And  live  again  our  buried  past, 
By  an  angel  presence  led. 


I  view  again  the  pleasing-  scene 
Of  a  school  house  on  the  hill, 

Where  happy  scholars  daily  met, 
Whose  law  was  the  teachers  will. 


I  see  ag-ain  the  old  armchair 
Where  the  Master  daily  sat 

With  watchful  eye  and  helpful  hand, 
Yet  sleepless  as  a  cat. 


I  hear  again  the  sleepless  hum 
Of  voices  low  and  sweet, 

Of  students  pouring-  o'er  the  books 
With  wisdom's  g-erms  replete. 


Amid  that  happy,  g-uileless  throng1, 
There  was  one  peerless  face 

That  held  in  the  Master's  tender  heart 
An  undisputed  place. 


It  was  a  face,  O  God!  how  fair! 
No  words  can  ever  paint; 


PRISON     POETRY. 

More  fit  for  heaven  than  for  earth. 
It  bore  the  contour  of  a  saint. 


The  brow  was  high  and  broad  and  white, 

With  a  radiance  all  its  own ; 
The  cheeks,  like  lilies  dipped  in  blood, 

Were  oft  as  a  rose  full  blown. 


Eyebrows  dark  and  delicate!}-  arched, 
Were  penciled  in  Nature's  pla%-; 

The  ruby  ripeness  of  her  lips 
Seemed  never  to  melt  awav. 


Her  lustrous  e3~es,  whose  depths  were  brown, 

Yet  seemed  a  darker  hue, 
Were  windows  of  a  spotless  soul 

That  scorned  to  be  untrue. 


Abundant  tresses  of  dark  brown  halt- 
That  almost  swept  the  ground, 

Enveloped  as  chaste  and  lovely  form 
As  e'er  on  earth  was  found. 


A  voice  so  soft,  so  sweet,  so  low 

That  every  accent  woke 
Sweet  notes  of  blissful  melod}-, 

As  if  an  ang-el  spoke. 


None  could  look  upon  that  face 
And  deem  that  auglit  of  earth 

Could  chill  the  rapture  of  a  soul 
Where  sin  could  know  no  birth. 


Her  mind  had  wondrous  power  and  scope; 

It  grasped  the  sea,  the  earth,  the  sky, 
And  rig-htly  understood  and  loved 

The  God  who  ruled  on  hig-h. 


97 


9s 


PRISON     POETRY. 

Contentment,  truth  and  virtue 
Was  part  of  Nature's  dower; 

Self-sacrifice  to  her  was  joy, 
And  prayer  was  conscious  power 


While  vet  a  child  her  spirit  soared 
Above  the  thing's  of  earth, 

And  mused  with  soulful  tenderness 
On  the  heaven  that  gave  it  birth. 


The  teacher's  stern,  imperious  heart 
Yearningly  worshipped  this  child, 

And  'neath  her  hallowed  influence 
Grew  tender,  warm  and  mild. 


The  haughty  heart,  that  never  sought 

The  plaudits  of  the  world, 
Poured  its  richest  tribute 

At  the  feet  of  this  faultless  girl. 


The  face,  that  never  even  blanched 

'mid  war's  terrific  strife, 
Grew  pale  as  death  the  hour  he  asked 

This  child  to  be  his  wife. 


No  word  she  spake,  but  simply  laid 
Her  head  upon  his  breast. 

He  folded  her  in  warm  embrace 
And  knew  that  he  was  blest. 


Each  lived  a  life  of  conscious  joy; 

Earth  seemed  a  garden  fair; 
The  lover  sought  earth's  fairest  flowers 

To  braid  in  her  shining  hair. 


Deeply  they  drank  at  the  font  of  love; 
Draughts  few  natures  can  hold; 


PRISON    POETRY, 

The  hours  were  seasons  of  perfect  blis8; 
Each  moment  more  precious  than  gold. 


Days  and  months  flew  swiftl3T  "by 
On  the  wing's  of  happiness  sped, 

And  two  sweet  babes  were  g-arnered 
As  the  fruit  of  their  marriage  bed ! 


They  neither  thought  nor  dreamed  of  aug^ht 
Save  their  babes  and  coming1  bliss; 

The}-  greeted  the  morn  with  soft  caress 
And  welcomed  nig-ht  with  a  kiss. 


Till,  thundering  on  the  wing's  of  Time, 

Fate  dealt  the  cruel  blow 
That  dashed  a  home  in  pieces 

And  laid  a  child-wife  low. 


The  husband  pressed  her  to  his  breast 
And  fondly  kissed  his  bride; 

But  with  the  parting-  of  that  kiss 
The  sinless  child-wife  died. 


The  kindred  angels  jo3rful  flew 
From  the  realms  of  endless  da3', 

And  g-ently  wafted  her  soul  above, 
But  left  to  us  her  cla3". 


"  She  is  dead  !     Kiss  her  and  come  awa\*. 
Your  cries  and  pra3'ers  are  all  in  vain, 


99 


Your  Ma3T-Bell  is  cold,  senseless. 
In  heaven  above  you'll  meet  again. 


The3'  smoothed  her  tresses  of  dark  brown  hair 
Back  from  her  marble  forehead  fair; 

Over  her  e3res,  that  oped  too  much, 
The3'  closed  the  lids  with  a  tender  touch. 


100  PRISON     POETRY. 

They  closed  with  tender  touch,  that  da}- 
The  thin,  pale  lips  where  beauty  lay; 
A  lout  her  brow  and  her  sweet  pale  face 
The,}7  tied  her  veil  and  bridal  lace; 


Placed  on  her  feet  the  white  silk  shoes 
That  May -Bell  for  her  marriage  chose; 
Over  her  bosom  crossed  her  hands; 
"Come  away,"  the}*  said,  "  God  understands." 


With  bowed  heads  they  left  the  room, 
Still  shuddering  at  its  silent  gloom; 
And  naught,  save  silence,  lingered  there 
Around  the  corpse  of  May -Bell  Clare. 


But  I  loved  her  far  too  well  to  dread 
The  silent,  stately,  beautiful  dead. 
I  cautiously  opened  the  chamber  door 
And  was  alone  with  my  dead  once  more. 


I  kissed  her  lips,  I  kissed  her  cheek, 
But  't  was  in  vain,  she  could  not  speak. 
I  called  her  names,  she  loved,  awhile, 
PJut  she  was  dead  and  could  not  smile. 


And  not  one  passionate  whisper  of  love 

Could  call  her  back  from  her  home  above. 

"  Cold  lips,"  I  murmured,  "•  breast  without  breath, 

Is  there  no  voice,  no  language  in  death?" 


Dull  to  ear  and  still  to  the  sense, 
Yet  to  the  soul  of  love  intense! 
See,  I  listen  with  soul,  not  ear; 
What  is  the  secret  of  dying,  my  dear? 


Was  it  the  infinite  wonder  of  all 
That  you  could  let  life's  flower  fall  ? 


PRISON     POETRY 

Or  was  it  a  greater  marvel  to  feel 
The  perfect  -calm  o'-er  ag~o«y  steal  ? 


Was  the  miracte  greatest  to  fmd  how  deep 
Beyond  all  dreams  sank  down  that  sleep? 
Did  life  roll  back  its  record,  my  dear, 
Showing-  all  past  deeds dark  and  clear? 


Oh,  did  love,  sweet  mistress  of  bliss, 
Aff  righted,  vanish  to  shun  death's  kiss  ? 
For  radiant  ones  in  the  world  above 
Forget  those  whom  OM  earth  they  love  ? 


Oh,  perfect  death!     Oh,  dead  most  dear, 
I  hold  the  breath  of  my  soul  to  hear! 
I  listen  as  deep  as  fathomless  hell, 
As  hig-h  as  heaven,  nor  will  you  tell! 


There  must  be  pleasure  in  dying,  my  swrei, 
To  make  }^ou  so  placid  from  head  to  feet! 
I'd  tell  3'ou,  darling,  if  I  were  dead 
And  your  hot  tears  on  wy  cheeks  shed, 


I'd  speak,  though  the  angel  of  death  had  laid 
His  sword  on  my  lips,  their  accents  to  shade. 
Not  in  vain  should  you,  with  streaming- eyes, 
to  know  Death's  chief  surprise. 


Oh,  foolish  world  !     Oh,  precious  dead ! 

Tho'  you  tell  me,  who  will  believe  't  was  said  ? 

Who  will  believe  I  heard  you  say 

In  your  own  dear,  kind  familiar  way: 


"I  can  speak  now— you  listen  with  soul  alone: 
To  the  eyes  of  \-our  soul  all  shall  be  shown. 
In  this  land  of  infinite  bliss 
The  utmost  wonder,  dear  one,  is  this: 


PRISON     POETRY. 

u  I  see  and  love  and  kiss  you  ag-ain; 
I  smile  at  your  triumph  over  pain: 
I  know  your  heart  is  honest  and  true; 
I'm  a  g-uardian  ang-el  to  you! 


"  What  a  strang-e,  delicious  amusement  is  death! 
To  live  without  being-,  to  breathe  without  breath! 
I  should  laug-h  did  you  not  cry: 
Listen,  dear  one,  love  never  can  die! 


"I  am  now  3*our  heaven-decked  bride; 
My  bod\-  and  not  m}*  love  has  died! 
Dear  one,  it  lies  there,  I  know, 
Pale  and  silent,  cold  as  snow. 


"And  3rou  say,  '  May -Bell  is  dead.' 

Weeping-  o'er  ni3*  silent  head! 

/  can  see  3Tour  falling1  tears, 

Hear  3*our  sig-hs  and  know  3'our  fears! 


"  Yet  I  smile  and  whisper  this: 
I  am  not  the  cla3*  3*ou  kiss: 
Cease  3rour  tears  and  let  it  lie, 
It  was  mine,  but  'l  is  not  // 


"  Dear  one,  what  the  women  love 
For  its  silent  home,  the  grave, 
Is  a  g-arment  I  have  quit, 
As  a  tent  no  long-er  fit. 


"  'T  is  a  cag-e  from  which,  at  last, 
M3'  enraptured  soul  has  passed. 
Love  the  inmate,  not  the  room, 
Love  the  wearer,  not  the  plume  ! 


"  Love  1113-  spirit,  not  the  bars, 

That  kept  your  Ma3'-Bell  from  the  stars; 


PRISON    POETRY. 


Be  wise,  dear  one,  and  quickl3~  dry 
From  every  tear  your  laden  eye. 


*-  What  you  place  upon  the  bier 
Is  not  worth  a  lover's  tear; 
?T  is  an  empty  shell  at  last, 
Out  of  which  the  soul  has  passed. 


144  The  shell  is  broken,  //  lies  //.'err, 
But  the  pearl,  the  soul,  is  here  ! 
'T  is  an  earthen  jar,  whose  lid 
God  sealed  when  it  faintly  hid 


*k  The  soul  He  made  to  live  on  higrh; 
The  mind  that  did  not,  cannot  die. 
Lt-i  the  dross  be  earth's  once  more, 
Since  the  #old  is  in  His  store. 


**God  is  glorious!     God  is  good  ! 
Now  His  word  is  understood! 
Life's  ceaseless  wonder  is  at  an  end, 
Yet  you  weep,  my  erring  friend! 


"  See,  the  lover  you  call  dead 

To  immortal  bliss  is  wed! 

Loves  and  homes  you  lost,  't  is  true, 

To  such  light  as  shines  for  you. 


"'  Yet  deep  in  your  inmost  soul 
You  shall  feel  my  sweet  control. 
I  '11  be  with  you  every  hour, 
Commissioned  by  Almightj-  Power, 


"To  guard  each  moment  of  your  life 
As  best  befits  your  ang-el  wife! 
At  night  I  '11  linger  'round  your  bed, 
With  an  angel's  noiseless  tread; 


103 


104  PRISON     POETRY. 

"And  while  3~our  slumbering-,  dream  of  me., 
I  '11  be  present,  love,  with  thee. 
Where  e'er  you  go,  where  e'er  3-011  stray., 
I  '11  be  near  thee  nigiit  and  da}-T 


'"•  Guarding-  3Ton  with  zealous  care, 
Pointing-  out  life's  every  snare, 
Chasing-  every  tear  away. 
Aiding-  ever}"  joy  to  stay. 


"  Chide  3*ou  when  you  g-o  astra3'; 
Bless  3'ou  when  3*ou  kneel  to 
Lead  \*out  with  an  unseen  hand. 
To  view  the  wonders  of  a  land 


"  Where  Peace  and  Love  and  Perfect  Jo3- 
Tong-ue  cannot  name,  nor  peace  destro}'! 
Shall  ever  bless  the  happ3'  band, 
As  radiant  "round  the  throne  thev  stand! 


"Once  there,  we  '11  never  part  ag-ain. 
But  time,  and  love  while  God  shall  ivi«_rn. 
I  cannot,  dare  not,  sa3~  farewell; 
Where  I  am  nou>  3-ou,  too,  shall  dwell. 


%*  I  am  g-one  before  3'our  face, 
A  moment's  time,  a  little  space. 
When  3'ou  come  where  I  have  stepped 
You  '11  great  13-  wonder  why  3*ou  wept! 


"  You  '11  know  b3*  Love  Eternal  taught 
That  Heaven  is  all,  that  earth  is  naug-ht. 
I  beg-  3*ou  not  to  dread  sweet  death; 
'T  is  but  the  first  and  faintest  breath 


Of  the  life  that  God  hath  given 
To  fit  immortal  souls  for  heaven! 


PRISON     POETRY.  105 

Be  certain,  darling-,  all  seems  love, 
Viewed  from  the  higher  courts  above! 


*'  The  cares  and  troubles  that  arise 
Will  prove  sweet  blessings  in  distrui.se: 
They  '11  waft  you  to  a  home  above, 
Where  I  '11  await  your  coming1,  Love!  " 


/  heard  these  words  and  fell  on  the  breast 
Of  the  peerless  bride  that  heaven  had  dressed 
I  yearned  for  those  blissful  regions  above 
With  heart  overflowed  with  passionate  love. 


My  peerless  flower,  tho'  nipped  in  youth, 
Perennial  shall  bloom  in  the  Garden  of  Truth 
I  see  in  the  distance  a  roseleaf  hand 
Beckoning1  me  on  to  that  glorious  land. 


Tho'  parted  on  earth  we  '11  meet  in  the  sky, 
Where  bliss  cannot  perish,  and  love  cannot  die 
Oh,  bliss  supernal!     Oh,  rapture  complete. 
When  earth-sundered  ones  in  glory  shall  meet. 


For  v'ears  and  \-ears  I  've  watched  in  vain 
To  see  that  buried  face  again; 
In  vain  I've  tried,  with  mortal  eyes, 
T<>  pierce  the  m  \~steries  of  the  skies! 


Oh,  sweetheart  of  the  da>'s  of  yon', 
Shall  we  meet  on  earth  no  more  ? 
Shall  I  languish  all  alone 
Without  one  sympathetic  tone — 


')n.   glance  of  love,  one  word  of  cheer 
From  eyes  and  lips  I  hold  so  dear? 
Oh,  hearken  to  my  piteous  cries, 
I.eloved  one,  and  forsake  the  skies! 


106  PRISON     POETRY. 

Oh,  listen!     Earth-born  mortals,  see! 
My  angel  bride  has  come  to  me! 
The  self-same  face — divinely  fair — 
And  heaven-set  jewels  decked  her  hair. 


Her  laughing-  eye  and  glowing-  cheek 
Eternal  youth  and  bliss  bespeak; 
My  head  is  pillowed  on  her  breast, 
My  brow  by  her  dear  hands  caressed  ! 


The  dulcet  tones  of  her  dear  voice 
Bids  my  aching-  heart  rejoice; 
She  folds  me  'neath  her  dazzling-  wings. 
While  all  the  heart  within  me  sings! 


Oh,  list  those  melting  tones  of  love, 
More  soft  than  note  of  cooing  dove! 
Oh,  hear  the  words  her  dear  lips  speak : 
"  Death,  dear  one,  is  the  boon  to  seek  ! 


"False  are  the  glittering  gems  of  earth. 
Eternity's  gold  is  the  gold  of  worth; 
One  moment  in  heaven  is  worth  a  life 
Spent  on  earth  'mid  care  and  strife! 


"  Death  is  but  the  dawn  of  day, 
Destroying  naught  save  worthless  clay! 
The  soul  lives  on  in  rapturous  bliss 
More  perfect  than  a  virgin  kiss! 


"'  Oh,  dear  one,  still  your  haunting  fears; 
The  love,  tho'  lost,  of  earlier  years 
Awaits  your  coming  to  the  skies, 
And  o'er  you  watch  with  jealous  eyes. 


kt  Lest  earth  detain  3'ou  till  too  late 
To  enter  heaven's  wide  open  gate. 


PRISON     POETRY. 


Oh,  taro'  not  on  earth  too  long, 
But  with  me  join  immortal's  song! 


She  spake,  and  through  the  vaulted  sky 
Beyond  the  reach  of  mortal  eye, 
She  wings  her  rapid  noiseless  flight 
And  I  am  left  alone  tonight. 


Nay,  not  alone;  for  in  my  soul 
I  feel  a  new-born  sweet  control 
That  lures. me  to  a  higher  life, 
Which  will  please  an  angel  wife! 


Farewell,  prison  blight  and  bars, 
Mine  is  a  home  beyond  the  stars. 
Welcome,  Death,  at  an}*  hour, 
Since  sin  has  lost  her  maddening  power! 


I08  PRISON     POETRY. 

ACROSTIC    TRIBUTE    TO 
CAPT.  J.  S.   ACHESON. 


}\\  <;KO.  w.  H.  HAKKISON. 


just  consider,  for  one  moment,  all  the  grood  this  man  has  done. 
iln  full  many  a  field  of  battle  he  the  victory  hath  won; 
ijwept  he  with  victorious  Sherman  from  Atlanta  to  the  sea, 
actinir  as  a  soldier,  from  all  fear  and  malice  free; 


Vrovin.tr  true  in  every  station,  like  a  soldier  tried  and  true, 
£10  has  earned  and  won   the  friendship  of  the  boys  who  wore  tin- 
blue! 


his  advent  in  this  prison  he  has,  with  impartial  mind, 
it  plain  that  every  duty  can  be  done  and  still  be  kind. 

,J.n  his  bosom  rests  no  malice  towards  a  single  human  soul: 
!-i  is  his  study,  nijrht  and  mornin<r,  all  his  passions  to  control. 

£le  is  willing  every  prisoner  should  become  his  honest  friend, 

,1'ind  the  prisoner's  reformation  he  regards  as  law's  best  trend; 
i>rime,  he  deems  is  but  the  fruitage  of  conditions  time  can  change. 
4le  would  lift  his  fallen  brother  and  no  rule  of  riyht  derantre! 
.l^ver  ready  with  the  welcome  of  a  smile  and  word  of  cheer. 
>iome  may  only  be  respected,  but  such  men  are  ever  dear. 
ii'er  the  path  of  life  may  Heaven  scatter  roses  at  his  feet; 
>)ione  will  doubt  that  every  Christian   shall   /m   face   in   heaven 
meet. 


PRISON     POETRY.  IO9 

MY    MOTHER, 


CARK. 


One  bright  Sunda3r  morn,  as  I  sat  in  my  cell, 

My  thoughts  to  the  outside  did  roam; 
The  sweet  songs  of  birds,  as  their  notes  rose  and  fell, 

Turned  my  mind  to  my  childhood's  dear  home. 


Long  years  they  have  passed  since  I  saw  that  dear  spot, 
But  its  sweet  memories  time  can  ne'er  smother; 

I  can  never  forget  that  dear  little  cot 
And  the  sweet  loving  smile  of  my  mother. 


In  sickness  or  pain  't  was  dear  mother  that  brought 
Her  sweet  self  and  her  charms  to  alia}-  it; 

She  learned  me  a  prayer  and  she  lovingly  taught 
Me  to  kneel  at  her  knees  and  to  say  it. 


(iod's  word  she  would  read,  and  impress  on  my  mind 
The  love  that's  conveyed  by  that  story 

Of  the  Savior,  who  died  that  millions  might  find 
Eternal  rest  in  His  realms  of  glory. 


For  years  she's  been  dead,  and  her  low,  grassy  mound 
Reminds  me  that  'neath  it  lies  sleeping 

The  dear  friend  of  my  3routh,  whose  magic,  I  found, 
Could  bring  smiles  to  my  face  e'en  when  weeping. 


'T  is  thus  the  dear  birds,  as  they  joyfully  sing 

And  chirp  happy  calls  to  each  other, 
Remind  me  that  perhaps  they  were,  sent  for  to  bring 

A  message  to  me  from  my  mother. 


But,  alas!  as  I  think,  upon  my  mind  there  quickly  falls 
The  thoughts  of  my  sad  degredation; 


HO  PRISON     POETRY. 

The  strong-  iron  bars,  and  the  grey,  sombre  walls. 
Recall  me  to  my  sad  situation. 


But  no  more  will  I  sin;  I'll  live  upright  for  sure; 

My  passions  and  temptations  I'll  smother; 
And  when  God  calls  me  home  to  that  brig-ht  shining  short- 

We'll  be  happy  tog-ether,  dear  mother. 


A    MEMORIAL    ODE. 


HY    G.    \V.    VAN   WEIGHS. 


Again  the  sacred  da3*  has  come 
When  tears  and  flowers  shall  fall 

On  the  graves  of  our  sleeping-  heroes 
Who  died  at  Liberty's  call. 


And  the  tears  we  shed  above  them, 
As  our  hearts  with  tenderness  bled, 

Is  the  crown  of  their  matchless  g-lory 
And  earth's  divinest  mead. 


Their  deeds  on  the  field  of  battle 
Were  such  as  a  g-od  mig-ht  do, 

And  the  listening-  angels  applauded 
The  work  of  the  boys  in  blue. 


The  flag-  they  died  defending- 
Still  floats  above  their  grave, 

And  is  loved  by  millions  of  freemen, 
But  never  looked  on  \>y  a  slave. 


The  country  they  loved  and  bled  for, 
vStill  true  to  her  sacred  trust, 


PRISON    POETRY. 

Will  cover  their  names  with  glory 
And  revere  their  hallowed  dust. 


The  comrades  who  still  survive  them, 
Like  gold  in  the  furnace  tried, 

Speak,  with  tear-dimnied  lashes, 
Of  the  g-allant  boys  that  died. 


These  flowers  will  fade  and  perish, 
Tho'  hallowed  by  each  grave; 

But  they  will  live  forever 

In  the  hearts  of  the  true  and  the  brave. 


Then  let  this  custom  continue 
Till  tears  and  flowers  shall  cease, 

And  we  shall  greet  the  g-allant  boys 
On  the  shores  of  endless  peace. 


LINES   To  MY  CELL. 


Oh,  silent  and  mysterious  cell, 
Could  I  command  thy  walls  to  tell 
The  secrets  they  have  kept  so  long, 
'T  would  be,  indeed,  a  cheerless  song-. 


A  tale  of  crime,  and  tears,  and  pain, 
The  fruit,  perhaps,  of  frenzied  brain, 
As  none  to  crime  yet  ever  sank 
That  had  not  first  become  a  crank. 


"  The  law  of  God  and  man  defy, 
A  wretch  you'll  live,  a  felon  die!  " 
These  words  seem  to  haunt  my  brain, 
Perhaps  it  is  the  sad  refrain 


112  PRISON     POETRY. 

Of  a  song-  well  known  to  thee; 
Yet  where  its  author  now  can  be, 
Save  thee,  perhaps  no  one  can  tell, 
Thou  grim,  ni3*sterious,  silent  cell. 


Thy  rocky  floor  has  felt  the  tread 
Of  many  a  hapless  one  now  dead; 
Th}'  walls  have  echoed  many  a  sig-h. 
Wrung1  from  guilt's  expiring-  eye. 


While  musing-  "mid  ihy  walls  tonig-ht 
I  seem  to  hear,  with  some  affrig-ht, 
The  wail  of  many  a  blig-hted  life, 
The  prayer  of  a  despairing-  wife; 


A  mother,  weeping-  for  her  child; 
A  father,  grief  has  driven  wild. 
And  then — I  pray  thee  silence  keep: 
'T  were  best  to  let  thy  secrets  sleep. 


PRISON     POETRY. 

A    TRIBUTE    TO 

DR.     G.    A.     THARP. 


113 


BY   G.    W.    VAX    WEIGHS. 


Arise,  my  Muse,  and  tune  your  harp 
To  ring-  the  praises  of  a  Tharp; 
His  cultured  mind  and  noble  soul 
Truth  and  virtue  both  control. 


Tell  the  world  his  perfect  skill 

Can  conquer  every  human  ill 

That  lends  to  science  or  to  art, 

From  shattered  limb  to  dormant  heart, 


Each  pill  and  potion  that  he  makes 
Relieves  your  pain  and  health  awakes: 
And  should  he  use  the  surgeon's  knife. 
He  never  will  sacrifice  a  life. 


His  skilfull  fingers  place  a  band 
As  gently  as  a  woman's  hand; 
And  not  one  patient  needs  to  feel 
That  he  the  truth  will  not  reveal. 


The  poor  regard  him  as  their  friend, 
And  on  his  bounty  oft  depend: 
Well  knowing  that  his  generous  heart 
Dares  to  act  a  Christian  part! 


Long  may  this  noble  doctor  live, 
Ease  to  suffering  men  to  give; 
And  meet  the  summons  to  depart 
With  the  skill  he  wooes  his  art. 


PRISON    POKTRY. 
AN  APPRECIATED  FRIEND 


Sin-  is  a  pretty  little  lass. 

Half  human,  half  divine; 
And  for  an  an  pel  she  would 

In  Heaven's  lovelv  cUme. 


Her  hair  is  locks  of  flowing  pold, 
Her  ways  are  cute  and  wise: 

And  her  form  is  lithe  and  graceful.. 
With  pretty  bright  blue  eyes. 


Her  manners  are  just  perfect. 

Her  nature  kind  and  true: 
She  is  a  real  philanthropist 

When  charity  is  due. 


She  strives  to  cheer  those  sad  at  heart. 

And  well  she  does  succeed; 
And  stays  the  ever  painful  dart 

That  often  fate  does  speed. 


How  different  from  so  many  folk 

Who  frown  upon  the  one 
Who,  by  some  simple  words  he  spoke. 

Caused  "crime"  to  have  been  done. 


Although  the  cruel  knife  of  fate 
Has  made  an  awful  wound, 

In  her  kind  words,  that  come  but  late. 
Sweet  balm  for  sorrow  *s  found. 


Oh,  that  this  wicked,  wicked  world 
Could  boast  more  such  friendly  souls 

Less  lives  would  be  so  sadly  hurled 
Into  a  pit  of  earthly  trhouls, 

Where  nothing-  's  saved,  but  all  is  lost; 


PRISON     POETRY.  115 

And  where  man  's  cast,  at  any  cost. 

Into  a  dismal,  prison  dell — 

A  gloomy,  dreary,  earthly  hell! 


•Come,  of  such  friends  arise  and  sing, 
With  thanks  returned  to  heaven's  king-! 


SALOME'S    REVENGE. 


Arise,  my  Muse,  spread  out  thy  \vin«> 

Prepare  to  soar  away! 
Tune  up  thy  harp  for  endless  joy. 

And  turn  night  into  day. 


<io  dream  of  Paradise  sublime 

In  the  old  Empire  State! 
And  when  _vou  're  done  return  to  m, 

Your  story  to  relate. 


In  time  gone  by — in  days  of  yore 
There  lived,  in  forests  wild, 

Two  families  of  ancient  stock, 
And  each  one  had  a  child. 


The  children  of  both  parentage 
Were  born  in  this  country: 

They  amassed  immensely  fortunes 
In  this  America. 


The  Wadding-ton's  were  pure  Scotch  blood. 

And  raised  -one  daughter  fair: 
The3-  gave  her  name  of  Sadie, 

She  'd  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair. 


,  K,  PRISON      F'OKTRY. 

I  ler  cheeks  were  rich  with  crimson  j»- low- 
lier lips  were  tliin  and  ruff, 

Ami  many  an  anxious  lover 
She  sternly  did  refute. 


Her  dainty  liandsand  Mowing  hair. 

And  ^rat-Hill  curxesof   form 
Would  inakr  one's  hear!  <|iiit<-  palpilalt 
rarr'n-d  all  by  siorin. 


'rriu-nian  VVaddin^ton  was  a  in. in 
\\'liolo\t-d    his  daughter     heir. 

And  .is  lie  rolled   in  endless  wealth 
Hi-  watrhed   his  child's  welfare. 


'I'heir  nearest  neighbor  was  St.  Lawrenre 

Who  lived  a  little  way 
<>lt    on  the  rii^jred  mountain  side. 

Where  children  like  to  pla\  . 


Two  oliildren  lie  had  buried 
When   they   were  yet  «|iiite  yo 

And  now  he  was  a  happy  man 
Vause  he  reared  an  only  son. 


This  son  he  named  him  Trueman, 
Uecause  he  liked   t  he  name. 

And  tho't  't  would  be  in  honor 
Of  his  neighbor  of  the  same. 


•'  A  |  .111  act  of   kindness  and  of   lo\e." 

Old  Waddin^ton  did  say, 
"  Uecause  you  named  him  alter  me 

I    pledge  ill  \    Sade.  tod.i  \  ." 


The  two  old  friends  called  in  their  wives 
And  asked  them  to  consent 


PRISON     1'OKTKY.  117 

To  seal  tin-  bargain  for  each  child 
On  which  they  were  both  bent. 


Tin'  mothers  thought  it  rather  soon 

To  tic  so  firm  a  knot. 
And  be^jred  them  not  to  seal  their  doom 

llv  such  a  foolish  plot. 


Kiit  TruiMiian  Waddintflon  was  not 

A   man  to  easy  <|iiit, 
And  he  argued  loiitf  and  labored  strong 

In  a  half  wav  fren/ied  til. 


!!«•  said:   %k  I  know  we  are  both  rich 
In  lands  and  kine  and  tf<>1<l, 

And  why  not   join  these  vast   fortunes 
llefore  t  hev  are  all  sold  ? 


"  \tn\  "ve  named  \oiir  only  son  from  me; 

True-Mian  it  is,  Ti  '/<' Man  he'll    be, 
And  now  must   I  sit  by  in  shame 

And  cannot  seal  my  d  a  lighter's  fame  ?  " 


Then  spake  the  elder  man  St.  Lawrence: 
"  Deai-  sir,  my  neighbor  and  my  friend, 

You  have  my  heart  and  soul  and  mind, 
And  thesr  \  asl   fortunes  I  will  bind 


"  Together  with  true  chords  of   love. 

C.od  help  our  children  find 
A  pan  their  mothers  will  not  take 

I  n  tli is,  to  seal  their  chi  Idren's  fate. 


••  Now  let  me,  please,  su^j/esl  a  way 
To  reach  this  matter  of  today; 

And  we  will  friendly  make  the  deal 
So  lawyers  cannot  break  the  seal." 


IlS  PRISON     POETRY. 

Then  Wadding-ton  sprang-  to  his  feetT 
And  warmly  did  his  neighbors  greet; 

Then  shook  him  warmly  by  the  hand, 
And  said,  "  Come,  let  us  seal  the  baud. 


And  then  with  fixed  and  mellow  eye 
He  g-azed  on  high  as  he  stood  by 

His  rug-g-ed  friend  and  neighbor,  too. 
Then  St.  Lawrence  bade  him  what  to  do 


"  My  dear  old  friend,  sit  down,  sit  down 
'T  is  easy  for  us  now  to  drown 

All  obstacles  that  's  in  our  way 
To  carry  out  our  plan  today." 


Then  he  proceeded  to  relate 
How  easy  men  in  Empire  State 

Could  call  in  witness  to  their  deed 
And  satisfy  all  fortune's  creed. 


*•  Now.  look-a-here,  my  friend  St.  Lawiviio- 

You  cannot  be  too  quick 
To  tell  me  how  we  '11  do  all  this 

And  make  this  bargain  stick." 


And  then  the  sage  St.  Lawrence  did  say: 
"Look  here,  my  friend,  here  is  our  way  ! 

I  '11  make  my  will  of  my  estate 

(And  that,  you  know,  is  very  great. 


"  Unto  your  fair  and  lovely  child, 
If  she  refrains  from  being  wild. 

And  when  she  weds  she  weds  my  son. 
My  noble,  brave  and  kind  Trueman. 


"  Then  j*ou,  my  friend,  reciprocate; 
You  make  your  will  of  this  same  date. 


PRISON     POETRY,  119 


And  seal  as  I  do  mine: 

Make  True,  my  .son,  your  legatee. 


-And  to  him  give,  in  simple  fee, 

Your  lands,  your  goods,  \-our  kine,  your  cash. 
All  in  one  grand  and  mighty  crash. 

If  he  your  daughter  weds," 


The  witnesses  were  duly  called; 

The  wills  were  then  prepared; 
The  testators  did  sign  their  names. 

The  children  they  well  fared. 


Tlu-  documents  were  laid  away 

In  vaults  of  solid  rock; 
TluM-e  safely  for,  the  children  kept, 

Their  heritage  of  stock. 


Years,  years  rolled  on  and  Trueman  grew 

To  be  a  handsome  man. 
He  said:     %t  I  'm  bound  to  be  "M.  I)." 

And  do  the  best  I  can." 


Sadie,  on  the  other  hand, 

Grew  to  be  a  queen; 
And  when  to  college  she  did  go 

Trueman  there  was  seen. 


They  played  at  home,  when  they  were  young. 

Upon  the  mountain  side, 
And  never  once  did  they  mistrust 
'd  be  both  groom  and  bride. 


When  Trueman  closed  his  college  course 

He  off  to  Gotham  went, 
To  become  an  adept  in  his  class 

While  on  his  mission  bent. 


120  PRISON     POETRY. 

Sadie,  on  the  other  hand, 
When  she  had  closed  her  term, 

Returned  unto  her  mountain  home. 
For  which  she  hourly  yearned. 


Two  3'ears  had  changed  this  happy  home 

To  one  most  sadly  grieved; 
The  mother  of  this  lovely  g-irl 

Had  sadlv  been  deceived. 


She,  down  upon  her  death  bed  lay, 
When  in  came  Sadie  one  bright  day 

And  grazed  upon  the  shrunken  form 
Which  now  had  battled  life's  hard  storm. 


Poor  Sadie,  with  a  broken  heart, 
She  did  the  best  to  take  her  part;  . 

But  long-  the  sickness  did  not  last, 
Because  her  mother  now  soon  passed 


From  time  into  eternity, 

Where  the  human  soul  is  ever  free. 
Trueman  now,  in  cit3T  fashion, 

Had  let  die  out  his  old-time  passion 


For  rocks  and  rills  and  mountain  side, 
Where  dwelt  the  queen  who  'd  be  his  bride. 

So  much  for  selfish,  erring1  man; 
He  '11  do  the  best  where  e'er  he  can. 


Time,  time  rolled  on,  when  Sadie's  sire. 
With  renewed  youth  and  boyhood  ire. 

Took  to  himself  another  wife, 
And  tried  anew  to  live  his  life. 


The  new-made  mistress  of  the  home 
(Who  had  no  place  she  called  her  own) 


PRISON     POETRY.  J2i 

Was  mother  of  a  daughter  fair. 

With  dimpled  cheeks  and  flowing  hair. 


The  madame's  name  was  Maria; 
Her  daughter's  was  Sarah. 

soon  was  boss  of  all  the  house. 
And  Sadie  driven  like  a  mouse 


Into  the  cold  and  cheerless  world. 

Sadie,  with  a  broken  heart, 
Prayed  her  father  take  her  part; 

Hut  he,  with  proud  and  dire  disdain. 

Forever  did  refrain. 


Then  Sadie,  on  her  mother's  grave. 

Pra.ved  loud  and  long-  for  God  to  save 
H-.-r  soul  from  earthly  wreck. 

Then,  with  a  palpitating-  heart. 


With  one  fond  look  she  did  depart 
To  battle  hard  with  broken  heart; 

While  daughter  and  a.  second  wife 
Should  all  but  ruin  her  young-  life. 


Hut  father  did  as  fathers  do, 

When  their  list  of  wives  have  numbered 
He  lent  his  daughter  a  deaf  ear, 

For  his  second  wife  he  then  did  fear. 


His  life  was  short;  he  soon  became 

A  victim  to  a  raging-  pain, 
Which  soon  relieved  him  from  this  life 

And  bore  him  off  from  life's  hard  strife 


They  laid  him  low  beside  his  wife. 
The  pride  and  joy  of  Sadie's  life: 


122  PRISON     POETRY. 

But  Sadie  knew  not  of  the  fate 
Her  father  had  so  sadly  met. 


The  neu* -made  widow,  without  tear. 

Prepared  to  move,  within  a  year. 
To  far  and  distant  foreign  land. 

Where  neither  had  a  single  friend. 


The  yoods  were  sold,  the  stock  and  kin* 
The  lands  were  leased  for  a  lony  time 

Tin-  two.  with  pockets  tilled  with  yold. 
Sailed  for  Paris  with  joys  untold. 


Yminy  Sarah,  who  was  quite  a  belle. 

When  in  old  Paris  she  did  swell 
Her  wardrobe  with  both  silk  and  lace. 

And  numerous  paints  Jo  ply  her  face 


She  was  the  very  counterpart 
Although  't  is  strang-e  to  say — 

Of  pretty  Sadie  Waddinjrton 
In  all  her  dainty  ways. 


She  spread  herself  around,  about. 

In  all  society's  halls. 
And  never  failed,  when  chance  availed. 

To  attend  the  stylish  balls. 


She  was  a  favorite  with  them  all. 

In  fact,  the  Oueenly  Helle, 
And  many  a  suitor's  prayer  she  heard 

While  on  bended  knee  he  fell. 


One  evening  while  on  promenade 

Within  society's  halls. 
She  met  a  handsome,  tall  youii!_r  man 

She  "d  seen  at  some  of  the  balls. 


PKISON     POETRY. 

"When  introduced,  both  their  eyes  met. 

She  blushing*  timidly; 
He  heard  the  name,  "Miss  Wadding-ton 

Then  asked  most  courteously: 


••  From  what  part  of  America's  soil 
Do  you  and  your  friends  hail? 

Or  have  you  lived  in  Paris  long-? 
On  what  liner  did  vou  saiJ  ? 


She  said:     "  1  'm  Sadie  Wadding-ton. 

From  the  city  that  bears  my  name; 
It  borders  on  the  old  St.  Lawrence. 

A  river  oJ  world-wide  fame." 


Then  spake  the  handsome  gvmlemair 
"  1.  too,  am  from  that  place; 

And  if  you  are  Sadie  Wadding-ton. 
I  ouirht  to  know  your  face."" 


Her  cheeks  grew  flushed  and  flushed  ag'ain, 
A  -  on  her  he  searching-lv  g-azed: 

She  looked  up  in  his  solemn  face 
And  saw  he  was  g-reatly  a  in  axed. 


It  was  Trueman  St.  Lawrence  she  saw. 

As  she  g-axed  on  his  beautiful  form: 
She  was  more  than  bewitching-  in  her  way 

To  capture  him  all  by  storm. 


Tlie  Doctor  went  to  his  hotel 
To  ponder  the  matter  o'er: 

"  That's  not  the  Sadie  Wadding-ton 
I  've  seen  in  days  of  yore." 


N  brain  was  puxxled,  his  face  was  flushed, 
He  was  in  a  frenzied  mood: 


1  23 


124 


PRISON     POETRY. 

He  could  not  fathom  the  mystery 
To  do  thf  best  he  could. 


If  that  's  the  g-irl  in  days  of  youth 
I  played  with  on  the  mountain  side. 

Uefore  I  leave  this  old  city 
I  '11  make  her  my  darling-  bride. 


So  saying-,  lie  sank  upon  his  couch. 
And  slept  in  dreams  so  rich  and  g-av 

That  loud  his  servant  called  and  called, 
Because  \  was  late- -far  in  the  day. 


That  day  lie  had  a  trip  to  make 
Unto  a  neighboring* town, 

And  visited  a  hospital 
Kept  by  a  Doctor  Brown. 


In  passing"  from  one  of  the  wards. 

While  in  the  open  door. 
He  chanced  to  turn,  and  lookin.tr  back 

Saw,  kneeling-  on  the  floor. 


With  outstretched  arms  and  pleading-  eyei 
The  g-irl  for  years  he  had  not  seen  : 

She  'd  grown  into  full  womanhood. 
She  was  a  perfect  fairy  One-en. 


••  What!   what!  '7  he  cried,  "am  I  deceived 

If  I  'm  my  father's  son 
That  .g-irl  I  see  back  yonder 

Is  Sad  if  ]l\iddingj<»i  .'  " 


He  hastened  back  to  where  she  knelt, 

And  bade  her  to  arise, 
And  clasped  her  to  his  manly  breast. 

While  tears  rose  in  his  eyes. 


PRISON     POETRY. 

Then  'tween  her  sobs  and  moans  and  groans 

She  slowly  did  relate 
How  she  was  driven  from  her  home 

Hack  in  the  Empire  State. 


She  told  of  awful  suffering1, 
Of  wandering-  far  and  near; 

Of  the  death  of  father  and  mother. 
To  her  all  that  was  dear. 


She  told  him  how  she  had  returned 

Unto  her  mountain  dome, 
And  as  she  was  told  that  all  had  been  sold. 

She  was  left  without  a  home. 


The  Doctor  stood  transfixed  with  awe: 

Listened  to  her  relate 
The  story  of  the  sale  of  all, 

Back  in  the  Empire  State. 


The  Doctor  said  :     "  My  dear  Sadie, 

It  matters  not  a  bit  to  me 
Whether  }-ou  have  lands,  or  g-oods,  or  g-old. 

I  have  vast  fortunes  vet  untold. 


"  What  's  mine  is  yours;  't  is  always  so, 
My  father  told  me  long-  ag-o, 

lit- fore  I  left  the  Empire  State 
And  came  over  here  to  studv  late. 


"  I  offer  you  my  heart  and  hand, 
And  pledg-e  to  seal  it  with  the  band 

Of  holy  wedlock,  faithfully. 
Now  set  vour  heart  forever  free 


*'  From  labor  and  the  toils  of  life, — 
Come,  say  you  '11  be  my  darling-  wife! 


125 


126  PRISON     POETRY. 

I  feel  a  pang-  about  my  heart 
That  pierces  like  a  flashin.tr  dart. 


"Oil.  True.  St.  Lawrence!     Oh,  can  it  be 
That  you  do  really  care  for  me? 

I,  who  have  lived  by  a  false  name 
To  hide  a  step-mother's  wicked  shame': 


"  For  live  long-  years  my  name  has  been 

As  you  directly  would  have  seen  . 
Not  Sadie  VV.,  as  you  have  known. 
Hut  the  Sadie  changed  to  plain  Salome. 


"  The  \Vadding-ton  I  changed,  also, 

For  the  common  name  of  Van  Harlow: 

Thru  a inon ;r  strati g-ers  I  did  seek 

For  work  to  do,  although  H  was  meek. 


"  I  came  across  the  ocean  wide, 
As  servant  to  a  new-made  bride: 

She  was  taken  sick  and  died  out  here 
He  fore  she  *d  been  a  bride  a  \  ear. 


••  Since  then  I  Ve  cared  for  poor  and  sick, 
And  cannot  leave  them  now,  so  quick. 

I  patients  have  who  must  have  care 
l.efore  /  leave  for  better  fare. 


"  Now  True,  my  dear,  I  '11  be  your  own ; 

I  '11  make  you  an  ever  happy  home; 
I  feel  Pa's  oft"  spoke  words  are  true. 

Trueman  "s  your  name,  True  Man  are  YOU. 


He  pressed  her  closely  to  his  breast: 
To  dry  her  tears  he  did  his  best; 

Then  irently  kissed  her  burning  cheek.- 
And  bade  her  wait  but  a  few  week*. 


PRISON     POETRY. 

Tin-  happiest  man  in  all  the  land 

Was  True.  St.  Lawrence,  with  trembling  hand, 
Who  then  returned  to  his  rooms  rich, 

A  restless  nig-ht  to  roll  and  pitch 


Upon  a  bed  of  faultless  down, 
But  pains  of  heart  it  could  not  drown. 

He  lay  and  mused  throughout  the  nig-ht. 
'Cause  his  future  now  looked  bright. 


Sarah  Waddiugton  and  her  mother 
Prepared  a  party  for  another. 

A  gvnt  the3r  wished  to  entertain, 

'Cause  Sarah  wished  to  bear  his  name. 


"  It  is  to  be  a  swell  affair, 

So  she  could  safely  set  her  snare 

To  catch  the  unsuspecting-  True., 

Because  he  loves  and  loves  but  vou." 


So  spake  the  mother  to  her  child, 
Who  seemed  deligfhted — almost  wild — 

To  think  that  she  could  play  her  part 
Without  remorse  or  pain  at  heart. 


The  time  rolled  on,  and  days  were  spent 

In  fixing-  up  for  the  event; 
The  rich  were  called  from  every  side 

To  see  Sarah — the  would-be  bride. 


She  sent  a  most  bewitching  note 
For  Dr.  '  Lawrence  to  oast  the  vote, 

Who  'd  be  the  Belle  of  honor,  bright. 
To  bear  the  graces  of  the  nig-ht. 


The  Doctor  smiled,  as  he  sat  clown 
To  answer  it,  without  a  frown: 


128  PRISON     POETRY. 

And  faithfully  he  did  outline, 
In  characters  most  cute  and  fine 


"  My  choice  is  one,  and  only  one: 
And  now  I  *ve  written  and  't  is  done 

As  sure  as  I  "m  my  father's  son. 
"T  is  one — fair  Sadie  Wadding-ton  ! 


"Aiut  now,  before  it  is  too  late. 

There  's  one  request  I  have  to  make 
That  I  be  granted  then,  or  sooner. 

To  be  escort  to  the  maid  of  honor." 


"  Your  request  is  at  once  granted. 
And  hope  we  '11  become  enchanted: 

And  with  your  presence  '11  l.e  elated, 
I'.ecause,  it  seems,  we  are  related. 


Fair  Sarah,  then,  did  make  it  known 

K'eal  quietly  about  her  home 
That  she  and  'Lawrence,  raised  side  bv  side. 
\Vould  soon  become  both  groom  and  bride. 


Silks  and  diamonds  bought  with  gold. 

Gotten  from  the  kine  she  'd  sold 
'Way  back  in  the  Empire  State, 

Where  poor  Sadie  met  her  fate. 


Just  one  week  before  the  eve' 
When  he  Sarah  would  deceive. 

Trueman  went  to  see  his  love. 
Who  was  pretty  as  a  dove. 


"  Sadie,"  said  he,  4*  sweet  is  revengv  ! 

Let  us  now  your  labor  change. 
The  ones  who  drove  you  to  3rour  fate. 

Away  back  in  the  Empire  State. 


PRISON     POETRY. 

"Are  here  in  Paris  this  long  time, 

id  live  in  luxury  sublime. 
The  g-old  they  got  from  off  your  kine, 
It  g-oes  for  suppers  and  for  wine. 


"  In  holy  wedlock  let  us  wed, 
I  '11  lead  you  to  a  bridal  bed; 

And  then  in  luxury  and  state 
We  '11  "tend  the  bail  ere  't  is  too  late. 


*'  I  '11  humble  them  in  dust  and  shame! 
Ah,  Sadie,  you  were  not  to  blame! 

H  make  them  wish  they  'd  never  sold 
Your  g-oods  and  kine  for  glittering-  g-old 


"'Come,  darling,  now  we  "11  off  today, 
The  bridal  knot  to  firmly  tie. 

Then  I  your  graceful  swanlike  neck 
With  pearls  and  rubys  will  bedeck. 


41  I  '11  trim  your  lovely  graceful  form 
With  richest  satin  to  be  worn: 

I  '11  place  upon  your  tapered  hand 
A  solitaire,  set  in  g"old  band. 


-'  Your  dainty  feet  encased  in  kid 
Of  dainty  styles,  they  're  onl}-  made 

For  those  who  're  called  the  name  of  Oiu-t-ns. 
And  bought  by  those  who  have  vast  means. 


"  Then  to  the  ball  we  '11  proudly  g-o, 
(And  who  we  '11  meet  I  do  not  know,) 

I  '11  there  present  to  every  one 
M.y  bride,  true  Sadie  Wadding-ton. 


The  shock,  so  sudden,  will  be  great; 

'11  quail  beneath  their  hearts  own  hate 


129 


130 


PRISON     POETRY 


Of  being  there  exposed  to  all; 
OH,  won't  it  be  an  awful  fall  ? 


•'Come,  Sadie  dear,  revenue  /s  sweet! 

Now  is  our  chance  to  .tret  your  mete 
\Vhich  they  have  held  from  3'ou  so  long, 

And  did  3^011  such  a  cruel  wrong*." 


Then  Sadie  spoke:     "  Trueman,  1113-  dear, 
There  's  naught  I  know  lor  me  to  fear. 

Revenge  is  sweet,  although  "t  is  queer. 
Revenge  I  get  in  Paris  here." 


They  carried  out  their  little  plot. 

And  never  skipped  a  single  jot. 
The  eve.  was  line,  the  folk  wen-  guv. 

And  not  a  thing  stood  in  their  way. 


It  was  quite  late  when  they  arrived 
At  the  mansion  of  the  would-be  bride. 

As  soon  as  Doctor  stepped  in  sight, 
Kscorting  Sadie — his  delight— 


Sarah  saw  the  graceful  form 

And.  with  one  scream,  she  left  the  room. 
And  fell  fainting  to  the  floor. 

They  gently  laid  her  on  the  couch 


lief  ore  the  open  door. 

Her  mother  came  in  haste  to  see 
What  all  the  trouble  there  could  be, 

And  did  not  see  the  Doctor's  bride 


Until  she  was  close  by  her  side. 

And  when  she  saw  it  was  too  late, 
She  gasped:     "Oh,  Sarah  's  met  her  fate." 

Then  fell  into  a  deathly  state. 


PRISON     POETRY. 

The  mother  swooned  and  swooned  away 
The  entire  nig-ht  and  most  the  day; 

x\nd  then  the  Doctor  came  to  say, 
"  Her  life  is  run,  she  cannot  stay !  " 


Sadie,  with  trained  and  skillful  hand. 
Nursed  Sarah  back  to  conscious-land 

Did  faithfull}'  the  watchword  keep 
While  often  o  'er  them  she  did  weep. 


And,  just  before  the  mother  died, 
She  Sadie  called  to  her  bedside 

And  beg-ged  her  to  full  pardon  g-ive 
For  cruel  wrong-  she  did  receive. 


Sadie,  always  so  g-ood  and  true. 
Said  she  always  thought  she  knew 

That  the  grand  day  would  surely  come 
When  that  great  wrong-  would  be  undone 


She  granted  full,  complete  pardon 
For  all  the  wrongs  the  dame  had  done. 

And  then  she  spoke  kind  words  of  cheer 
Into  the  madam's  dying  ear. 


With  firm-set  eyes  and  drooping  chin 
The  madame  grasped  and  tried  to  cling 

Unto  the  hand  she  once  did  scorn, 

And  drove  from  home  at  break  of  morn. 


Slu-  then  was  wrapt  in  eternal  death. 

And  from  her  soul  came  not  a  breath 
In  casket  pure  as  driven  snow 

Unto  the  churchyard  she  did  go, 


And  there  was  laid  beneath  the  cla\- 
To  await  Jehovah's  Judgment  Day. 


PRISON     POETRY. 


All  lands  and  goods  and  gold  and  kine 
Slit-  loft  behind  for  endless  time! 


Poor  Sarah!  doomed  to  awful  fate. 

Her  mind  was  left  in  ruined  state; 
In  raving-  madness  and  in  strife 

She  tried  to  take  our  Sadie's  life. 


The  best  physicians  in  the  land 

Were  summoned  forth,  on  everv  hand 

To  try  and  bring-  her  from  the  strife 
Hack  to  the  land  of  happy  life. 


Off  to  an  asylum  she  must  go, 

'Cause  "t  was  nol  safe  to  leave  her  so; 

And  with  good  care  she  might  regain 
And  be  relieved  from  mental  pain. 


Salome,  our  faithful  lass  and  I/ride, 
Resolved  to  stay  by  Sarah's  side 

And  help  her  regain  her  lost  mind. 
Ami  comfort  tor  her  she  would  find. 


Nine  weeks  were  spent  in  mad- house  fare. 

Salome  bestowing  tender  care 
Upon  the  one  who  once  did  face 

Salome  in  all  her  dire  disgrace. 


When  Doctor  St.  Lawrence  saw  his  wilt* 
Was  bent  on  battling  for  the  life 

of  one  who  was  once  her  mad  foe, 
He  said:     "All  right,  it  shall  be  so." 


Salome,  she  clung-  unto  her  charge. 
As  if  she  were  her  dearest  friend; 

She  incurred  expenses  somewhat  large 
To  treat  her  patient  to  the  end. 


PRISON    POETRY. 


The  Doctor  soon  began  to  learn 
His  bride  and  wife  would  never  spurn 

The  one  who  once  her  home  did  take, 
And  drove  her  off  for  mere  pride's  sake. 


He  asked  Salome  what  she  would  do 
In  case  that  Sarah  did  pull  through, 

And  once  again  her  mind  regain 
Before  they  crossed  the  raging  main. 


Salome  did  quickly  make  reply, 

While  glistening  tears  stood  in  her  eye: 

**  I  '11  take  her  to  old  Empire  State, 
Right  to  the  door  where  I  met  fate! 


*'  I  '11  make  her  happ3^,  if  I  can, 
And  now  I  '11  form  my  little  plan: 

We  must,  dear  True.,  just  do  our  best, 
And  fix  her  up  in  a  cosy  nest. 


We  will  give  her  a  little  home 
On  the  beautiful  mountain  side; 

We  will  find  her  a  handsome  lover 
Who  '11  be  proud  to  call  her  his  bride. 


"•  We  will  give  them  all  attention 
That  the  best  of  friends  could  do; 

We  will  return  good  for  evil, 
'Cause  my  mother  taught  me  so. 


44  Let  us  show  that  true  religion 
Is  the  life  we  ought  to  live, 

A  ml  the  ways  that  Christ  rejoiced  in 
Are  the  ways  to  which  we  cleave. 


"Oh,  my  husband,  dearest  Truemaii. 
I  believe  in  Sarah  reigns 


134 


PRISON     POETRY 

The  true  principle  of  goodness — 
Let  us  fan  that  spark  to  flames. 


"  Can  I  now  secure  her  safely, 
Teach  her  shun  her  evil  ways 

And  discard  that  haught}-  spirit 
That  she  learned  in  younger  days, 


"  I  will  be  the  happiest  mortal 
Ever  lived  on  mother  earth, 

And  will  reach  that  heavenl}*  portal 
Onlv  reached  bv  second  birth." 


After  coaxing,  begging,  teasing, 

Sarah  consented  for  to  go 
Back  across  the  ocean,  raging. 

Where  her  childhood  seeds  did  sow. 


When  they  reached  the  harbor  safely. 

Bag-  and  bag-gage  on  the  truck. 
The.y  cast  lots  to  see  what  steamer 

They  would  choose  for  their  good  luck. 


Doctor  g-ot  the  choice  of  vessels, 

And  he  quickly  did  decide 
That  the  City  of  St.  Paris 

Should  take  their  protege  and  his  brich 


Safely  in  the  vessel's  cabin, 
Housed  in  cosy  stateroom  there. 

All  were  ready  for  the  voyage, 
And  did  look  for  cheerful  fare. 


Out  upon  the  brinj-  billows. 

Just  three  days  and  nights,  't  was  said. 
When  the  night  was  dark  and  dreary, 

Trueman  rose  from  sleepless  bed. 


PRISON    POETRY. 

There  was  something-  weighed  upon  him. 

Something-  whispered  to  beware; 
He  dressed  and  went  upon  the  deck 

To  breathe  the  crisp  sea  air. 


He  paced  and  paced  the  vessel's  deck 
With  long  and  manly  stride; 

He  went  from  starboard  o'er  to  port 
And  back  to  starboard  side. 


He  "d  been  upon  the  deck  some  time, 
And  peered  into  the  g-loom 

As  if  them  something-  overawed 
And  threatened  them  with  doom. 


At  last,  to  port,  he  spied  a  fleck, 
A  dancing-  on  the  waves, 

And  there  he  plainly  saw  a  deck 
Bedecked  with  pirate  knaves. 


The  vessel,  with  a  dark-hued  hull, 
I  Jo  re  straig-htway  on  its  course, 

When,  "  Hard  to  port !     To  port  !  to  />/>/•/.'  " 
Rang-  out  a  voice  real  coarse. 


The  strange  boat  glided  swiftly  on, 
Li  Ice  a  ghost  on  phantom  wings, 

While  the  crisp  sea  breeze  went  dancing  past 
And  through  her  rigging  sings. 


The  strange  boat  slipped  along,  across 

The  brinAT  billows  white, 
And  their  steamer  ploughed  and  labored  hard 

Along  its  renewed  flight. 


It  was  a  close  and  dangerous  call, 
Because  the  night  was  dark; 


'35 


PRISON     POETRY. 

Had  they  collided  there,  on  the  ocean  bare, 
The}-  'd  went  down  with  their  bark. 


The  voyage,  then,  to  Gotham 
Was  stormy  and  quite  rough, 

And  all  agreed,  when  landed, 
That  the}-  had  quite  enough. 


They  then  all  took  the  railroad  train 
North,  through  the  Empire  State, 

And  soon  were  on  the  mountain  side 
Where  Sadie  met  her  fate. 


The  first  place  Sadie  wished  to  see 
Was  graves  of  father  and  mother, 

And  tripping-  lightly  from  the  yard, 
She  passed  out  with  another. 


That  bitter  morn,  with  memories  fresh. 

When  from  her  home  she  'd  fled, 
She  was  scorned  by  one  now  too  glad 

To  lead  her  on  ahead. 


When  she  approached  her  mother's  u 
The  tears  rolled  thick  and  fast, 

And  by  her  side  poor  Sarah  stood, 
With  memories  of  the  past 


A  fitting-  through  her  guilty  mind: 
And  then  she  spoke  at  last: 

"  Oh,  Sadie,  Sadie,  what  a  blot 
Upon  my  mother's  past; 


It  stings  within  my  guilty  heart, 
And  would  to  God  I  now  could  part 

With  half  the  pain  I  feel— 
The  balm  of  Christ  could  scarcely  heal. 


PRISON     POETRY.  137 


She  stooped,  and  silently  did  presj 

Her  fresh  and  rosy  lips 
Upon  the  little  mound  of  grass 

"  Beneath — dear  mother  sleeps,'* 


Then  Sarah,  with  most  tender  words. 
Pressed  Sadie  to  her  breast 

And  with  a  fervent,  heartfelt  plea, 
Praved  both  them  to  be  blest. 


When  thej-  returned  unto  their  home, 
Their  friendship  sealed  with  silent  love, 

They  could  not  bear  to  be  alone; 
They  felt  a  power  from  up  above. 


Old  friends  and  neighbors,  with  delight. 
Called  on  the  Doctor  and  his  bride, 

And  there  convened,  on  the  first  night, 
A  host  of  friends  who  're  on  their  side. 


There  's  one  among"  them  old  and  gray, 
Who  'd  lived  right  there  for  all  his  life: 

*T  is  the  elder  man  and  sage,  St.  Law  re  net 
And  he  smiles  upon  the  Doctor's  wife. 


Heir  to  the  Waddington  estate, 
Sadie  reigns  the  queen  of  all; 

Her  friendship  for  Sarah  was  great, 
And  sister  her  did  often  call. 


The  Doctor  chose  to  spend  his  life 
Upon  the  handsome  mountain  side 

With  Sadie,  his  true  loving  wife, 
And  Father  St.  Lawrence  until  he  died. 


Time  rolled  around  and  months  flew  by; 
Sadie  and  Sarah,  hand  in  hand, 


PRISON    POETRY, 


Sealed  by  the  firmest  friendship  tie, 
Two  of  the  truest  in  the  land. 


There  chanced  to  stroll  from  distant  clime 
A  bright  young-  man  of  Sadie's  kin; 

Came  to  visit  in  Summer  time, 

And  Sarah  was  introduced  to  him. 


Sadie  tried  her  best  to  make  a  match,. 

And  championed  well  her  cause; 
Sarah  viewed  it  as  a  catch 

That,  one  very  seldom  draws. 


Though  *t  was  but  a  short  acquaintance. 

Still  the  wedding-  time  was  fixed; 
The  intended  groom  had  patience, 

"Cause  he  felt  he  was  not  rich. 


'.  stveet  as  dewy  honey. 
Wishing-  that  her  friends  should  wed. 
Proffered  home  and  lands  and  money 
If  the  word  would  just  be  said. 


"  I  am  heir  to  all  this  fortune, 
Known  as  Wadding-ton's  estate; 

Come,  now,  Sarah;  come,  now,  Hawthorne. 
Join  vour  hearts  ere  't  is  too  late. 


"  1  will  give  to  \~ou  a  larg-e  farm 
Yonder  on  the  mountain  side; 

I  will  yive  you  kine  and  money, 
If  you  '11  be  my  cousin's  bride." 


Sarah  spake,  with  dewy  eyelids. 

To  the  one  she  loved  so  dear: 
"  Sadie,  I  am  anj'thing-  but  worthy 

Of  this  princely  yift,  to  cheer 


PRISON    POETRY, 

My  poor  broken,  wicked  heart, 
After  I  have  been  so  bad; 

You  should  never  take  my  part, 
Since  /  took  that  which  you  had. 


Yet  Sadie,  true  to  her  own  passion,, 
Promised  deed  in  fee  for  all, 

If  Sarah  would  wed  her  own  cousin. 
Ere  the  Summer  ran  to  Fall. 


So  the  wedding- -day  was  fixed 
When  the  two  should  be  made  one> 

And  their  home,  as  she  predicted, 
Would  be  deeded  as  their  own. 


When  at  last  the  nuptial  greeting 

Was  received  on -every  hand,, 
The  sage,  St.  Lawrence,  came  to  their  meeting 

The  last  one  left  of  their  quartet  band. 


Tin*  wedding-  knot  was  duly  tied» 

And  the  folk  were  feeling-  gay: 
They  were  now  made  happy  groom  and  bride, 

Starting-  out  in  life's  pathway* 


When  the  ceremony  was  over, 
And  the  g-ifts  they  were  bestowing- 

Bridal  gifts  as  sweet  as  clover— 
Sadie,  with  her  rich  hair  flowing-. 


Called  the  old  'Squire  of  the  city 
That  to  witness  of  her  signing 

The  transfer  of  title  fair, 
To  the  land  that  lay  up  there; 


When,  to  her  surprise  and  chagrin, 

Father  St.  Lawrence,  with  g-enlle  voice. 


14o  PRISON    POETRY. 


Told  her  that  she  could  not  bargain, 
For  she  had  not  even  choice, 


"  Now,  my  daughter,  not  one  farthing 
Of  this  vast  and  rich  estate 

Has  been  left  unto  True.'s  darling, 
Now,  I  tell  you,  't  is  not  too  late. 


"All  this  land  you  tho't  was  3Tours 
By  inheritance  of  your  blood, 

HVas  bequeathed  by  your  dear  father 
To  one  you  never  thought  he  would. 


Xow,  I  've  brought  the  Judge  of  Probate 
As  an  honored  guest  of  mine, 

That  he  might  reveal  the  truth, 
That  it  might  be  writ  in  rl^rne. 


Then,  to  soothe  the  disappointment, 
The  old  judge  with  silvery  hair 

Drew  from  'neath  his  outer  garment. 
Two  old  papers  kept  with  care. 


One  was  read  by  him  to  Sadie, 
Where  her  father  had  endowed 

All  his  lands,  and  kine  and  mone}' 
On  the  one  who  made  her  proud. 


When  this  document  was  ended. 
And  was  handed  to  True  man. 

The  old  sage,  St.  Lawrence,  pretended 
That  he  enjoyed  youth  again. 


"  Read,  Judge !  read  your  other  paper ! 

Tell  my  daughter  here  the  truth; 
Tell  her  what  their  anxious  fathers 

Did  for  them  while  in  their  youth." 


PRISON    POETRY.  141 

When  the  document  was  ended, 

With  tears  showering-  down  her  face, 
Sadie,  kisses,  sweetly  blended, 

While  she  held  him  in  embrace. 


Long-  their  fortunes  had  been  blended 

By  the  signatures  alone 
Of  their  fathers  in  their  child  days, 

As  they  played  around  their  home. 


*'  True,  my  dear;  O  will  you  come  here? 

Sign  this  deed !     Come  quick,  O  do; 
Carry  out  my  simple  wishes; 

Sarah  is  my  friend,  so  true." 


•*  Yes,  my  darling-,  this  with  pleasure 
I  will  do,  to  please  you  all; 

It  is  my  most  pleasant  leisure 
To  do  bidding-  at  your  call." 


So,  the  deed  of  g-ift  was  given, 
And  in  happiness  they  'd  start; 

From  that  home  they  'd  ne'er  be  driven, 
Life  anew  to  never  part. 


There  in  happiness  and  comfort 
Did  they  live  upon  the  place 

Where  the  evil  of  proud  passion 
Smothered  one  in  dire  disgrace. 


Happ3"  was  Salome  and  Trueman 
When  they  saw  their  protege  safe 

In  the  hands  of  Cousin  Hawthorne, 
On  the  Wadding-ton  old  place. 


Safe  within  the  coils  of  homelife, 
Safe  within  the  cottag-e  walls, 


142  PRISON    POETRY. 

Safely  with  a  trusting-  husband, 
Safe  within  their  friendly  calls. 


Thus  the  vengeance  of  our  Hero 
Was  full  spent  to  meet  her  theme; 

Yet  so  different  from  a  Nero, 
Because  she  knew  she  could  redeem. 


Salome's  revenge  was  to  her  sweet, 
'Cause  she  'd  conquered,  not  cut  down  : 

Now  she  feared  no  one  to  meet, 
Nor  would  any  wear  a  frown. 


Though  some  years  had  been  so  bitter. 
And  had  fraught  such  cruel  pain; 

Now  the  coldest  of  the  winter 
Seemed  like  flowery  beds  of  green. 


Now,  away  up  on  the  mountains, 
In  the  well  known  Empire  State, 

Sadie  Waddington  is  living 
In  sweet  REVENGE,  where  she  met  fate. 


PRISON    POETRY.  143 

A    TRIBUTE    TO 
CAPT.    GEORGE    W.    HESS. 


BY  G.   W.   VAN  WEIGHS. 


Almost  a  decade  thou  hast  battled  with  a  patriot's  band, 
Whose  first  duty  is  devotion  to  their  native  land; 
And  no  comrade  but  is  willing1,  with  a  ready  mind, 
To  declare  thee  brave  and  Io3ral  to  all  mankind. 


In  thy  country's  hour  of  peril,  on  the  battle  field, 
Thou  wert  ever  more  than  willing-  all  her  rights  to  shield, 
And,  with  true  and  loyal  purpose,  battled  for  the  right, 
Till  secession's  traitorous  banner  sunk  in  endless  night! 


Duty's  path  to  thee  is  glory,  glory  easy  won; 

For  a  task  so  oft  repeated  is  quite  easy  done; 

Yet  no  one  can  ever  chide,  for  thy  generous  heart 

Ne'er  will  crush  the  poor  and  helpless  with  oppression's  dart. 


Every  prisoner  knows  and  likes  thee,  for  thy  friendly  wayt 
Must  attract  their  close  attention  and  excite  their  praise; 
And  the  few  who  know  thee  better,  as  a  man  of  heart, 
Would  desire  no  nobler  mission  than  to  take  thy  part. 


May  you  live  in  peace  and  pie  nt}',  happy  with  your  own, 
Till  Jehovah's  love  shall  gather  'round  His  august  throne 
All  who,  like  you,  honest  comrade,  follows  heaven's  plan 
And  respects  the  rules  of  virtue  and  the  rights  of  man. 


144  PRISON    POETRY. 

MY    LAWYER. 


When  grappled  in  the  law's  embrace, 
Who  first  betrayed  an  anxious  face 
And  fain  would  shield  me  from  disgrace 
My  Lawyer. 


Who  told  me  I  should  not  confess, 
That  he  would  all  ni3'  wrong's  redress 
And  set  me  free  from  all  distress? 
My  Law3*er. 


When,  sick  in  jail,  I  senseless  lay, 
Who  took  my  watch  and  case  awaj-, 
Lest  prowling1  thieves  on  me  should  pre\- 
My  Lawyer. 


Who  to  mj'  wealth  tenacious  clung, 
And  for  me  wagged  his  oily  tong-ue, 
And  at  my  foes  hot  embers  flung-  ? 
Mj'  Lawyer. 


Who  told  me  he  was  dreadful  smart 
And  knew  the  law-books  all  by  heart. 
And  always  took  his  client's  part? 
M}~  Lawyer. 


Who,  in  the  court,  with  peerless  pride, 
My  rights  affirmed,  my  guilt  denied. 
And  swore  the  State's  attorney  lied? 
My  Lawyer. 


And  when  twelve  men,  in  one  compound, 
For  me  a  g-uilty  verdict  found, 
WTho  came  to  stanch  the  bleeding  wound 
My  Lawyer. 


PRISON     POETRY.  145 

Who  said  my  time  within  the  wall 
Would  be  exceeding-  brief  and  small, 
The  minimum,  or  none  at  all? 
My  Lawyer. 


And  when  the  judg-e  my  doom  proclaimed, 
And  three  long-  years  of  exile  named, 
Who  looked  indig-nant  and  ashamed? 
My  Lawyer, 


When,  at  the  sheriff's  stern  command, 
I  for  the  train  was  told  to  stand, 
Who  longest  shook  and  squeezed  my  hand  ? 
My  Lawyer. 


Who,  when  he  had  me  safe  confined, 
No  more  concerned  his  crafty  mind, 
Nor  was,  for  me,  to  grief  inclined? 
My  Lawyer. 


Who  closed  the  mortgage  on  my  lot, 
And  drove  m3'  family  from  my  cot, 
And  left  them  homeless  on  the  spot  ? 
My  Lawyer. 


Who,  when  of  prison  clothes  I  'm  stripped, 
And  from  these  walls  am  homeward  shipped, 
Will  g-et  himself  immensely  whipped  ? 
My  Lawyer. 

[Written  by  Mr.  George  Gilbert,  who  died  on  the  9th  of  June 
A.  D.  1890.] 


!46  PRISON    POETRY. 

A  SAD   WARNING. 


BY   GEO.   W.    H.    HARRISON. 


In  prison  cell,  at  early  twilight, 
Smoking  Foesters  "  Best  Cigar," 

Sat  a  convict,  little  dreaming 
Aught  his  perfect  bliss  could  mar. 


Round  the  cell-block,  slowl3'  ambling, 
Came  a  "  Screw,"  on  mischief  bent, 

And  his  wide,  expanded  nostrils 
Quickly  inhaled  the  welcome  scent. 


Wave  on  wave,  thro'  latticed  iron, 
Smoky-  clouds  rose  thick  and  high, 

And  the  happy  convict  murmured: 
"  Go,  ye  cloudlets,  greet  the  sky!" 


But  the  cloudlets,  incense  laden, 
Lingered  near  the  oaken  floor, 

Till  the  "  Screw,"  with  cat-like  motion, 
Stood  before  the  smoker's  door. 


In  the  spittoon,  charred  and  sputtering, 
Lay  the  smoker's  joy  and  pride; 

And  the  "  Screw,"  exultant,  murmured: 
"  Stackhouse  will  this  case  decide." 


Morning  dawned.    The  "  cellar  agent " 
Bore  the  trembling  wretch  awajr 

To  a  cellar,  cold  and  gloomy, 
Where  the  tools  of  torture  lay. 


Blows  and  shrieks  alternate  sounded, 

And  a  voice  from  near  the  floor 
Murmured:     "Stackhouse!     MERCY!     MERCY!! 

P-1-e-a-s-e,  sir;  I  will  smoke  no  more!" 


PRISON    POETRY. 

From  the  cellar,  shorn  and  shaven, 
Skulked  the  cowering-  "  con."  away; 

And  he  smokes — but,  Oh !  how  watchful 
Is  that  victim,  who  can  say  ? 


All  ye  inmates,  take  the  warning1, 
Gushing1  from  a  brother's  heart: 

He  who  smokes  within  these  portals 
For  the  dire  offense  may  smart! 


148  PRISON    POETRY. 


ACROSTIC     TO 

J.    C.    LANGENBERGER, 

CAPTAIN  OF  THE  O.  P.  NIGHT   WATCH. 


BY   G.    W.    VAN    WEIGHS. 


Just  to  all  men,  to  all  men  kind  and  true; 
i^onspicuous  as  a  g-iant  j-et  comely  to  the  view; 

Xioved  by  all  who  know  him,  trusted  everywhere; 

j;Uwa\  s  more  than  willing1  to  ease  his  fellow's  care; 

4) ever  harsh  or  cruel,  never  false  or  base; 

jLioing-  in  and  coming-  out  among-  those  in  disgrace, 

Darning-  from  each  prisoner's  heart  the  meed  of  honest  praise; 

J)ione  condemn  his  actions,  none  despise  his  ways; 

^y  his  children  reverenced,  by  his  wife  adored; 

Xvery  friend  is  welcome  at  his  ample  board; 

afich  in  all  that  makes  a  man,  poor  alone  in  hate; 

Jaod  of  Mercy  bless  the  man  who  nig-htl}-  g-uards  our  fate; 

pbver  ma3r  he  fill  the  post  that  wisdom  has  assig-ned, 

Ruling-  all,  as  now  he  does,  by  streng-th  of  heart  and  mind. 


PRISON   POETRY.  149 

SHE  LOVES  ME  YET. 


BY   GEO.   W.    H.    HARRISON. 


Amid  the  cares  and  griefs  of  life, 
One  precious  thought  I  '11  ne'er  forget, 

I  have  a  fond  and  faithful  wife, 
For  darling-  Lulu  loves  me  yet. 


The  bitterest  pang-  that  earth  can  give 
Can  never  make  my  soul  regret 

The  fact  that  I  on  earth  can  live, 
While  Lulu  says  she  loves  me  yet. 


The  sweetest  joy  my  heart  could  know 
Would  prove  a  diamond  yet  unset, 

Whose  radiant  lig-ht  could  never  glow, 

Like  this  sweet  thoug-ht,  "  She  loves  me  3ret." 


Should  grief  deluge  my  troubled  soul 
Till  every  hour  some  care  beset, 

I  could  defy  its  stern  control 
While  murmuring1,  "  Lulu  loves  me  yet." 


Should  every  friend  I  have  on  earth 
Each  vow  of  loyalty  forget, 

I  could  survive  the  cruel  blow, 
Since  darling-  Lulu  loves  me  yet. 

Should  earth  with  one  accord  combine, 
Sweet  Lulu's  influence  to  beset, 

It  would  not  change  my  constant  mind, 
If  I  but  felt  "  She  loves  me  yet." 


I  care  no  sweeter  boon  in  life, 
Nor  will  my  heart  its  choice  regret; 

I  only  long  to  meet  that  wife 
Who  truly  says  she  loves  me  yet. 


I50  PRISON     POETRY. 


ACROSTIC    TRIBUTE    TO 

HARRY    SMITH. 


BY   G.    W.    VAN    WEIGHS. 


is  like  the  god,  Appollo,  when  in  days  of  old 

Jill  the  hearts  of  Greece  could  conquer,  yet  despised  their  gold, 
in  manhood,  health  and  youth,  he  is  ever  free 

to  assist  his  brother  whatsoever  his  need  ma3r  be. 
'^(ou  can  trust  him  freely,  fully,  with  your  love  or  gold, 

xiiiice  his  love  of  truth  and  honor  never  can  grow  cold. 
J.1  ay  he  ever  do  his  duty  and  to  all  be  kind, 
4.t  is  but  the  noble  hearted  who  can  rule  the  mind, 
^Trusting,  still,  his  love  of  country  and  his  love  for  man, 
iie  may  rest  assured  Heaven  will  endorse  his  plan. 


PRISON   POETRY. 
THE  PHANTOM  BOAT. 


BY   GEO.   W.    II .    HARRISON. 


Two  lovers  once  sat  dreaming- 
Of  scenes  o'ergrown  "by  years; 
Sweet  Daisy's  eyes  were  eloquent 
With  g-irlhood's  pleading-  tears; 
Her  little  hand  was  lying- 
Confiding-ly^  in  mine, 
While  her  silve^  voice  pleaded: 
44  Dear  one,  awake  the  Nine !  " 


"  Yes,  darling-,  I  will  rhyme  for  you; 
What  leg-end  shall  I  drew  ! 
Shall  I  now  fold  you  in  my  arms 
And,  drifting-  down  life's  stream, 
'Mid  sing-ing-  birds  and  nodding-  flowers, 
Pour  forth  my  soul  in  love- 
in  accents  soft  and  tender- 
As  the  cooing-  of  a  dove? 


Or  shalf  I  tell  you,  dearest  one, 

Why  yonder's  rippling-  stream 

First  g-ained  the  name  "Tululah  " 

In  an  ag-e  that  's  now  a  dream  ? 

Well,  now,  pillow  your  head  upon  my  breast, 

The  leg-end  is  weird  and  wild; 

I  fear  me  much  its  harrowing-  scenes 

Will  shock,  thee,  g-entle  child. 


Will  you  listen,  while  we  're  watching- 
For  the  far-famed  Phantom  Boat? 
Perhaps  the  tale  will  lead  us 
To  catch  the  first  faint  note 
Of  Tululah's  wondrous  music 
As  she  floats  down  this  stream, 
For,  I  assure  you,  darling-, 
This  leg-end  is  no  dream. 


152 


PRISON    POETRY. 

Where  now  we  sit,  in  days  g-one  bj-, 

The  stealthy  panther  crept, 

And  bears  and  wolves  in  horrid  hordes 

Their  tireless  vigils  kept; 

Turkey, deer  and  beaver 

Were  scattered  far  and  wide, 

And  here  the  lordl3T  savag-e  stalked 

In  all  his  pristine  pride ; 


The  Creeks  then  ruled  this  forest, 
From  Suwanee  to  the  sea; — 
A  haughty,  bold  and  cruel  race, 
Cunning,  treacherous,  wild  and  free! 
To  hunt  and  fish,  and  boast  and  fight 
Were  the  duties  of  a  brave, 
While  woman — alas !  sweet  woman 
Was  but  a  cowering  slave! 


No  grant  had  she  to  breathe  her  wrongs 

Before  the  "  Council  Fire," 

Nor  dared  she  utter  a  single  word 

To  gain  her  heart's  desire, 

Until  her  savage  master 

First  gave  her  leave  to  speak; 

Nor  dared  she  then  to  brave  his  will 

Lest  he  his  vengeance  wreak! 


Yet  ever  and  anon  there  rose 
A  woman,  whose  proud  soul 
Ignored  those  self-created  gods 
And  spurned  their  base  control. 
Such  was  the  brave  Tululah, 
Whose  spirit  haunts  this  stream; 
In  a  phantom  barge  it  glides  along1, 
Like  a  wraith  in  a  troubled  dream. 


'T  is  said  she  haunts  this  river, 
Alone  on  a  misty  night, 
And  that  each  one  who  sees  her 
Is  'palled  with  strange  affright! 


PRISON    POETRY. 

And  why  she  haunts  this  river 
Is  the  burden  of  my  tale, 
And  none  who  have  a  tender  heart 
But  will  her  fate  bewail. 


Tululah  was  Ocala's  child, 

To  whom  the  Creeks  ascribe 

The  name  of  the  boldest  leader 

That  ever  led  their  tribe! 

A  savag-e  of  herculean  build, 

With  fierce  and  restless  eye, 

His  haughty  lip  deigned  not  to  smile, 

And  scorned  to  breathe  a  sigh! 


Tululah  was  his  pride  and  joy, 
The  only  thing  he  loved  on  earth, 
Since  she  became  an  orphan 
At  the  fatal  hour  of  birth! 
The  superstitious  savage 
Deemed  her  mother's  spirit  nigh, 
And  thought,  who  harmed  an  orphan, 
By  a  spirit  hand  should  die! 


She  was  born,  too,  "  In  a  Castle," 
Gifted  with  a  •*  second  sight;" 
Friends  of  earth,  and  sea,  and  air, 
At  her  command  would  fight. 
Her  raven  locks  and  soulful  eyes, 
Her  faultless  form  and  peerless  face. 
And  voice  of  wondrous  melody 
Awed  and  charmed  her  race. 


She  reigned  an  undisputed  Queen, 

All  her  mandate  must  obey; 

And  even  the  fierce  Ocala 

Was  obedient  to  her  sway. 

Yet  even  she  was  powerless 

To  stay  the  raging  flood 

Of  tireless,  deathless  savage  hate 

That  sought  the  white  man's  blood. 


154 


PRISON    POETRY. 

Ocala's  hatred  of  the  whites 

Was  known  both  far  and  near; 

Brave  hunters  spake  his  name  with  awe, 

And  women  in  trembling1  fear! 

At  last  he  grew  so  treacherous 

No  white  man  dared  come  nigh, 

Till  a  trio  of  gallant  hunters 

Determined  he  should  die  ! 


They  knew  't  was  a  dang-erous  mission 
On  which  their  steps  was  bent, 
Yet  the  prayers  of  honest  settlers 
Their  true  hearts  courage  lent. 
As  they  neared  the  sleeping-  village, 
Where  Ocala  awaited  his  doom, 
They  flitted  like  weird  spectres 
In  the  silent  midnight  gloom  ! 


There,  spread  before  their  vision, 

Five  hundred  wigwams  lay; 

A  savage  guerdon  of  defense 

For  him  they  sought  to  slay. 

To  the  silent  village  center 

Our  gallant  hunters  crept, 

To  the  door  of  the  largest  wigwam, 

Where  proud  Ocala  slept. 


Stepping  across  the  prostrate  form 
Of  the  sentinel  at  the  door, 
They  breathed  a  prayer  for  absent  ones, 
Whom  they  might  see  no  more. 
Three  knives  flashed  in  midnight  air, 
Then  fell  with  a  sickening  thud, 
Ocala,  Napoleon  of  his  tribe, 
Lay  withering  in  his  blood! 


But  hark!  what  means  that  fierce  warhoop, 
Resounding  loud  and  clear? 
'T  is  the  bugle  blast  that  calls  each  brave 
When  the  paleface  foe  is  near ! 


PRISON    POETRY. 

Gathering  fast  in  the  midnight  gloom, 
They  form  "The  Circle  of  Death  " 
Around  the  dauntless  hunters, 
Who  stand  with  bated  breath 


Awaiting-  the  savage  onslaught, 
Determined  to  sell  their  lives 
To  the  service  of  their  country 
And  the  freedom  of  men's  wives; 
While  pitying-  Heaven  aids  them 
By  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
Since  not  a  star  will  lend  its  aid 
To  guide  their  foes  aright! 


Now  facing  North,  and  East,  and  West, 
They  meet  the  savage  foes, 
Recruiting  Charon's  army 
By  every  lusty  blow; 
But  still  they  come  in  hideous  swarms, 
Like  hounds  let  loose  from  hell, 
Till,  overborne  by  numbers, 
Our  bleeding-  heroes  fell! 


All  honor  to  the  gallant  three, 
Twelve  braves  in  silence  lay, 
With  gaping  wounds  and  stony  eyes, 
To  greet  returning  day! 
While  yet  a  score  were  nursing 
Wounds  which  these  heroes  gave, 
That  signed  their  right  to  enter 
Into  an  unwept  grave! 


Ocala  ne'er  again  would  scourge 

Their  country,  far  and  near, 

Nor  wring  from  helpless  innocence 

An  unavailing  tear! 

His  death  alone  destroyed  the  boast 

And  stilled  the  raging  flood 

Of  senseless  pride  and  passion 

That  bathed  his  hands  in  blood! 


156  PRISON    POETRY. 

But,  alas,  for  human  prowess, 

These  deeds  but  roused  the  ire 

Of  savage  wretches,  who  now  tried 

To  vent  their  spleen  with  fire! 

Three  stakes  were  now  erected 

And  fagots  heaped  around, 

While  painted  fiends  in  human  shape 

Exultant,  sat  aground. 


They  led  the  helpless  captives  forth, 
With  many  a  shout  and  hoot, 
And  drug-  them  to  their  awful  doom, 
L,ess  feeling-  than  a  brute! 
And  first  they  bound  Hugh  Cannon, 
Whose  descendants,  love,  you  know, 
I  pointed  out  to  you,  last  Fall, 
When  we  were  at  the  show. 


They  bound  him  to  the  cruel  stake 

Before  his  comrades'  eyes, 

Then  scornfully  they  bade  them  mark 

"  How  a  paleface  coward  dies !  " 

Thank  God  his  captors  were  deceived, 

He  smiled  amid  the  flame! 

And,  with  his  fast  expiring1  breath, 

These  words  bequeathed  to  fame: 


"  To  suffer  in  a  noble  cause 

Is  sweet  beyond  compare ! 

These  greedy  flames  that  lick  my  blood 

But  light  a  vision  fair, 

Where  heroism  and  heroes  sweep 

The  still  resounding-  lyre, 

Heaven's  harmonies  have  quenched 

The  tortures  of  this  fire! 


"Tumultuous  raptures  'round  me  roll 
Heaven's  pearly  gates  ajar! 
My  spirit  soars  on  fleshless  wing 
Beyond  the  faintest  star! 


PRISON    POETRY. 

Oh,  blissful  death;  oh,  vision  fair, 
What  sweet  celestial  glories  shine, 
The  loved  and  lost  of  earlier  years 
Are  now  forever  mine!  " 


The  savage  horde  in  silence  stood 

And  listened  as  he  sang1, 

While  even  their  untaught  eyes  could  see 

He  suffered  not  a  pang1! 

No  yell  triumphant  smote  his  ear, 

Awe  silenced  every  tongue, 

And  many  a  heart  beat  faster 

As  he  his  requiem  sung-. 


Then  lionhearted  Conway, 

Beneath  whose  eag-le  eye 

Even  savage  foes  once  trembled 

Was  offered  up  to  die ! 

Defiant  still  'mid  writhing-  flames, 

He  heaped  on  them  his  scorn, 

And,  with  true  prophetic  voice 

He  doomed  their  race  unborn. 


Rejoice!  rejoice!  ye  howling- fiends, 
Distort  your  hideous  face, 
Soon  the  white  man's  wrath  shall  sweep 
From  earth  your  blood-stained  race, 
While  shining-  fields  and  cities  fair 
Attest  the  white  man's  power, 
You  accursed  Creeks  shall  be 
Tradition's  useless  dower!  " 


Now  comes  your  own  ancestor, 

The  g-allant,  brave  McCray, 

Who  planned  this  glorious  campaign 

And  led  the  awful  fight. 

He  was  a  perfect  Hercules, 

Cast  in  Appollo's  mould, 

With  a  heart  of  witching  tenderness, 

Yet  proud  and  dauntless  soul. 


158  PRISON     POETRY. 

Oft  had  he  visited  this  tribe, 
On  peaceful  mission  bent, 
And  to  many  a  savag-e 
His  kind  assistance  lent. 
Yet  little  dreamed  he,  at  this  hour, 
One  heart  amid  that  throng- 
Still  beat  responsive  to  his  own, 
Attuned  to  love's  mad  song"! 


Yet,  as  they  bound  him  to  the  stake 
And  raised  the  flaming-  brand, 
The  Chief  that  held  it  fell  a  corpse, 
Killed  by  a  woman's  hand! 
And  Indian  maiden  loosed  his  bands 
And  raised  her  voice  on  hig-h: 
"Who  harms  my  paleface  lover 
II v  Tululah's  hand  shall  die!  " 


Behold,  the  savag-e  concourse  stand. 
Transfixed  by  silent  awe, 
And  gaze  upon  Ocala's  child, 
Held  sacred  by  their  law! 
They  feared  Ocala's  spirit 
Mig-ht  then  be  hovering-  nig"h; 
Nor  dared  to  harm  his  darling-  child, 
Lest  he  who  harmed  her  die! 


The  Queen,  with  head  and  form  erect, 
Bore  McCray  undismayed, 
And  in  her  father's  wag-warn 
Her  wounded  lover  laid! 
Then  bending-  g-ently  o'er  him, 
Each  wound  she  rig-htly  dress, 
And  with  sweet  plaintive  melodies 
Lured  the  weary  one  to  rest. 


At  dawning-  lig"ht  McCray  awoke, 
His  Queen  still  lingering-  there; 
His  eyes  bespoke  his  gratttude, 
His  lips  were  moved  in  prayer 


PRISON     POETRY. 

3Tor  the  lithe  and  graceful  maiden 
W^hose  love  he.  knew  to  be 
Pure  as  early  morning's  blush, 
Yet  deathless  as — Eternitv  ! 


Although  once  failed,  his  savage  foes 

Still  thirsted  for  his  blood; 

The  hate  within  their  bosoms 

Was  as  tireless  as  a  flood. 

Not  daring  open  violence, 

They  sought  Oneida's  craft, 

And  'neath  the  guise  of  friendship 

Gave  the  lovers  a  sleeping  draught. 


When  the  mighty  god  of  slumber 

Had  locked  them  fast  in  sleep, 

The  wily  savage  entered, 

His  fearful  oath  to  keep. 

They  took  McCray  to  the  river 

In  sight  of  these  roaring  falls, 

Whose  sheer  descent — two  hundred  feet- 

The  stoutest  heart  appalls! 


They  bound  him  fast  in  a  frail  canoe, 
Set  adrift  'mid  the  current's  flow, 
Believing  his  life  would  be  dashed  out 
On  the  jagged  rocks  below. 
Then,  gladly  turning  homeward, 
A  ready  lie  they  make 
To  appease  her  bnrning  anger 
When  Tululah  shall  awake! 


Slowly  the  doomed  man  drifted, 

Yet  faster,  at  each  breath, 

The  quickening  current  bore  him 

To  the  open  gates  of  death ! 

Yet  still  he  slept;  aye,  slept  and  dreamed 

Of  the  proud  Creek's  peerless  flower 

Who,  for  deathless  love  of  him, 

Had  braved  her  nation's  power. 


I6o  PRISON    POETRY. 

Spurned  her  murdered  siris  corpse 

And  to  his  murderer  clung1! 

A3re,  on  the  spot  that  drank  his  blood, 

Love's  soothing-  ditties  sung-! 

Dreamed  of  the  eyes  that  flashed  with  fire 

When  his  foeman  dared  draw  nig-h, 

Yet  softened  into  tenderness 

At  her  lover's  faintest  sigh. 


Dreams  of  the  hand  that  sped  the  dart 

That  pierced  the  chieftain's  breast, 

Yet  with  such  witching-  tenderness 

Could  tremble  in  caress! 

Dreams  of  the  heart  that  proudlj'  braved 

A  nation's  deadly  hate, 

Yet,  at  a  lover's  first  command, 

Would  brook  a  martyr's  fate! 


Dreams  of  the  hour  when  Tululah, 
Who  so  bravely  saved  his  life, 
Shall  desert  her  baffled  kinsman 
To  become  a  white  man's  wife! 
Dreams  how  he  would  love  and  prize  her, 
Shielding-  her  with  tenderest  care, 
Spending-  time,  and  life,  and  fortune 
But  to  grant  her  lig-htest  prayer. 


But  his  dream  is  rudely  broken, 

And  his  blanched  lip  Ioudl3r  calls, 

For  he  hears  the  well  known  rumbling- 

Of  this  river's  awful  falls. 

Life  was  sweet,  death  was  so  near, 

And  he  so  young-  to  die! 

No  wonder  that  his  trembling-  lips 

Soug-ht  mercy  from  on  high. 


He  bore  ten  thousand  tortures 
With  every  passing-  breath, 
As  he  lay  bound  and  helpless, 
Gliding  swiftly  on  to  death. 


PRISON     POETRY.  161 

He  raised  his  clarion  voice 
Above  the  deafening-  roar; 
Great  heavens!  can  a  human  cry 
Reach  that  resounding-  shore? 


"  Yes !     Yes !  "  a  once  familiar  voice 

Calls  loudly  from  that  shore, 

And  a  well  known  trapper  woos  time 

To  life  and  hope  once  more! 

B}'  an  effort,  born  of  hope  renewed, 

McCray  sprang-  to  his  feet; 

The  trapper  saw,  his  lariat  flew, 

His  outstretched  hands  to  greet. 


4<  Steady!"  the  practical  huntsman  cried 

"  Your  peril  is  almost  o'er; 

Steady,  for  in  a  moment 

Your  foot  shall  press  the  shore!  " 

Then,  as  he  drew  the  skiff  ashore, 

He  recog-nized  McCray, 

But  grazed  in  silent  wonder 

For  late  raven  locks  were  grey .' 


And  never,  to  his  dying-  da3', 
Would  McCray  view  the  place 
Where,  in  suspended  ag-ony, 
He  met  death  face  to  face ! 
He  shuddered  at  an  Indian's  name, 
And  soon  forg-ot  the  Queen, 
Who  once  so  bravely  saved  him 
From  a  nation's  senseless  spleen. 


He  wooed  and  won  a  maiden 
Whose  blue  eyes,  like  your  own, 
Held  within  their  liquid  depths, 
Love's  nectarine  full  blown, 
And  as  I  press  your  luscious  lips 
I  praise  thee,  brave  McCray, 
Wrhose  dauntless  courag-e  g-ave  to  me 
The  g-irl  I  hold  today! 


!62  PRISON     POETRY. 

Oh,  yes;  forgive  me,  darling-, 

I  did  almost  forget; 

But  how  can  mortal  silence  keep 

By  such  sweet  eyes  beset  ? 

Grant  me  the  boon  of  one  more  kiss 

And  gaze  into  my  face; 

Light  fancy  by  your  radiant  eyes, 

Tululah's  fate  to  trace! 


Still  let  the  pressure  of  your  hand 
Chain  me  in  rapture  to  the  earth, 
For  I  must  offer  thoughts  tonig-ht 
That  ne'er  before  had  birth  ! 
No  idle  dreamer  dares  to  pienv 
The  mystery  of  this  stream. 
Nor  would  I  dare  the  bold  emprist- 
Save  that  vour  wish  I  deem 


The  highest  law  my  loving1  heart 

Can  now  or  ever  know, 

And  "neath  the  witchery  of  your  smile 

My  raptured  numbers  glow! 

My  fancy  soars  on  eager  wing, 

And  will,  perhaps,  at  last, 

Gladly  at  your  high  behest 

Unfold  the  misty  past! 


Tultilah  slept  till  evening  shades 
Had  deepened  into  night, 
And  woke,  alas!  to  find  herself 
Bereft  of  her  brave  knight. 
Her  Indian  wit  soon  taught  her 
Oguchu  was  to  blame, 
And  hastily  she  found  him, 
Her  eyes  and  cheeks  aflame ! 


"  Oguchu  knows  your  mission; 
Your  paleface  lover  fled 
While  Tululah's  starlit  eyes 
Were  wandering  'mid  the  dead. 


PRISON    POETRY. 

He  is  not  worthy  of  your  love; 
Let  my  sister  choose  a  mate; 
Oguchu's  lodge  is  open, 
Will  my  sister  spurn  her  fate?" 


"•  My  paleface  lover  is  a  brave !  " 

Tululah  proudly  cried; 

"  He  never  fled  from  friend  or  foe, 

Oguchu,  thou  hast  lied ! 

Th}-  double  tongue  is  poison-tipped, 

Thy  words  a  coward's  dart, 

Before  I  clasp  thy  loathsome  form 

Let  panthers  rend  my  heart! 


44  Speak,  coward,  speak!  where  is  my  brave? 

Tululah  asks  )TOU  where; 

Speak,  lest  I  summon  b3'  a  word 

The  friends  of  earth  and  air 

To  tear  your  quivering-  limbs  apart, 

You  lying-,  treacherous  chief. 

Speak  the  truth!  you  Indian  dog1. 

The  nig- lit  is  growing  brief!  " 


The  awestruck  chief  is  conquered, 
And  tells,  with  bated  breath, 
Where  last  he  saw  him  drifting-, 
Into  the  jaws  of  death! 
Tululah  heard,  and  wild  despair 
Hurled  reason  from  her  throne. 
Low  at  her  feet  the  wretches  crouched. 
Their  treachery  to  atone! 


"Up!     Up,  you  cowards!     Up,  you  knaves! 

And  lead  me  to  the  place. 

Tululah's  hand  shall  save  him  yet 

Or  curse  your  coward  race! 

'T  is  mine  to  speak;  yours,  to  obey; — 

I  am  your  Virgin  Queen: — 

I  swear  to  save  my  lover 

Or  never-more  be  seen  !  " 


PRISON     POETRY. 

They  led  her  to  the  river, 

And,  pointing-  to  the  place, 

They  stood  like  criminals  abashed 

Before  the  judge's  face. 

She  spurned  their  pleading-  counsel. 

And,  spring-ing-  in  a  boat, 

She  cast  the  oars  from  her 

And  set  the  skiff  afloat! 


Thru,  as  she  gazed  adown  the  stream. 
Her  eyes  were  all  aglow 
With  that  deep  yearning  passion 
Such  hearts  alone  can  know. 
While  sitting-  in  the  boat  erect, 
With  an  Indian's  willowy  grace, 
She  sang-  in  tuneful  numbers 
A  song  time  can't  efface: 


"  I  am  coming-,  coming-,  coming, 
Slowly  drifting-  down  the  stream, 

While  my  heart  is  yearning-,  j-earning- 
For  the  idol  of  love's  dream. 

"  I  have  left  them— left  them— left  them 
Farewell,  treacherous  Indian  race; 

I  can  hear  him  calling-,  calling, 
And  I  go  to  seek  his  face. 

u  Now  I  'm  gliding,  gliding,  gliding! 

And  I  hear  the  awful  roar 
Of  the  waters  tumbling,  tumbling, 

Where  no  boat  will  need  an  oar! 

"Now  I  'm  rushing,  rushing,  rushing! 

And  the  spray  obscures  my  sight; 
The  angry  waters  leaping,  leaping-, 

Chill  me  with  a  strange  affright. 

"  Oh,  I  see  him  !  see  him — see  him. 
And  I  welcome  death's  alarms! 

Oh  !     I'm  swiftly  falling,  falling, 
And  I  spring  into  his  arms!  " 


PRISON    POETRY.  165 

Not  a  trace  of  boat  or  maiden 
Could  the  savage  searchers  find, 
And  the3*  fled  the  spot  in  terror, 
Daring-  not  to  look  behind  ! 
Nor  would  they  tarry  near  the  river, 
But  moved  their  wigwam's  far  away; 
No  savage  Creek  would  linger 
Near  the  spot  by  night  and  day. 


And  tradition  says  her  spirit 
Ma.y  be  seen  on  nights  like  this, 
When  the  heavy  moon,  mist-laden, 
Greets  the  river  with  a  kiss! 
Not  in  vain  will  be  our  vigil 
If  Tululah  knows  tonight 
In  your  precious  veins  is  flowing 
Genuine  blood  of  her  brave  knight! 


Look!     Look!  'mid  the  river's  silvery  sheen 

Tululah's  Phantom  Boat  is  seen, 

While  the  air  vibrates  like  a  quivering  lyre, 

Touched  by  the  hands  of  an  angel  Choir! 

Oh,  wondrous  music  soft  and  low, 

Like  rippling  streamlets'  gentle  flow! 

Oh,  pathos  laden,  heart  refrain, 

No  mortal  lips  can  breathe  that  strain! 


Immortal  love!  not  even  death 

Can  damp  thy  flame  or  chill  thy  breath! 

Nay,  while  eternal  ages  roll, 

'T  is  thine  to  feed  the  hungry  soul 

With  manna  dipped  in  passion's  fire, 

True  birthright  of  the  heart's  desire; 

Blest  food  no  mortal  lips  can  take 

And  fail  enrapturing  bliss  to  wake! 

Heaven's  corner-stone,  earth's  chief  delight, 

Tululah's  captive  soul  tonight 

Is  but  living  o'er  the  dream 

Thou  didst  create  beside  this  stream. 


l66  PRISON     POETRY. 

Her  hapless  fate  all  must  deplore, 

Self-sacrificed  in  days  of  3*ore; 

And,  could  Tululah  live  again, 

At  least  one  heart  would  soothe  her  pain ! 


The  leg-end  may  be  overdrawn, 
Yet  't  is  not  all  a  dream ! 
Nor  will  you  ever  say  again : 
"  This  is  no  haunted  stream  !  " 
Other  eyes  beside  our  own 
Have  seen  the  Phantom  Boat, 
And  other  ears  than  ours  have  heard 
That  wild,  wierd  music  float! 


But,  precious  little  darling-, 
As  I  strain  thee  to  my  breast, 
I  am  concious  you  are  weary, 
Thus  deprived  of  needful  rest.. 
Let  us  hasten  to  thy  cottage, 
Parting  with  a  lingering  kiss: 
Little  Daisy,  then,  can  slumber 
And  awake  in  perfect  bliss! 


PRISON    POETRY. 


AN    INITIAL    ACROSTIC. 


jjhiear,  O  hear  the  melting  music  pouring-  from  inspired  hearts! 
J.n  the  race  of  life  they  stumbled,  victims  of  temptation's  darts. 
Ruin's  billows  them  engulfing-,  all  their  hopes  and  joys  to  blight; 
J"ind  the  scorpion  lash  of  conscience  scourg-es  them  b\"  da.y  and 

night! 
J.Ian  has  doomed  them  to  a  prison  where  shame's  torrents  hourly 

roll 

j'*ouring  every  known  afiliction  on  the  crushed  and  bleeding1  soul ! 
jLvery  legal  right  has  perished,  every  social  tie  is  snapped! 
jLirusbing  Force  is  ever  present,  body  mind  and  soul  entrapped  ! 
Jvindness  is  a  total  stranger,  human  treatment  rarely  shown. 

j.tan  is  faultless  when  his  fellow  for  a  fault  must  needs  atone! 
Luin  such  beings  know  the  rapture  Heaven  decrees  to  poet  souls? 

4\now  they  where  to  place  the  C3*mbals  of  the  sounding-  lyre 
/iever  yet  has  human  malice  stilled  the  music  of  the  spheres! 
.in  the  loathesome  Prison  dungeon.  Heaven  the  sweetest  music  hears! 
l^uilt  or  shame,  or  human  ang-er,  ne'er  can  fold  the  poet's  wing's. 
Jlowsoever  deep  his  anguish,  still  his  heart  exultant  sings 
Junes  his  lyre,  still  triumphant,  and  to  you  these  pages  brings! 


!68  PRISON     POETRY. 

ACROSTIC    TRIBUTE    TO 

DR.    H.    R.    PARKER. 


BY    GEO.    W.    H.    HARRISON. 


fi'e  towers  above  his  fellow  men,  like  some  grand  knight  of  old. 
Endeavoring-  to  rig-lit  all  wrong1  with  spirit  bold  and  free  ! 
,jYo  craven  fear  usurps  his  soul,  no  task  his  spirit  quails. 
Religion  to  his  soul  is  love,  and  love  no  wrong-  entails! 
>\ho  love  eternal  rig-ht  and  wish  your  fellows  well 


Refuse  him  not  the  meed  of  praise — 't  is  his  our  aches  to  quell ! 
Xach  heart  within  these  prison  walls  that  tests  his  wondrous  skill 
Mnites  to  sing-  his  praises  and  bless  his  g-enerous  will. 
\\\  kindly  words  he  cheers  the  soul  of  those  whom  dread  disease 
Juiivelops  in  her  mystic  folds  and  gives  each  patient  ease. 
J.Kaug-ht  canny    for  their  praise  or  blame,  he  steers  his  course 
aright, 

Droving-  duty,  well  performed,  is  matchless  in  its  might. 
^fhid,  tho'  but  a  youth  in  3^ears,  his  well  instructed  mind 
Reveals  all  pathologic  truth  and  practice  well  combined. 
,Jvindly  n\3.y  the  fates  decree  that  he  may  rise  to  fame. 
>hver  free,  as  he  is  now,  from  error  and  from  shame. 
Refuse  him  naug-ht  of  happiness  and  bless  his  honored  name! 


PRISON   POETRY. 
LINES  TO  MY  WIFE. 


BY   GEO.   W.    H.    HARRISON. 


Years  and  3*ears  have  passed  away 
Since  last  we  met,  my  darling-  wife; 

Oft  have  I  felt  the  tooth  of  pain 
Gnaw  at  the  vitals  of  my  life. 


The  brow  thy  hand  has  oft  caressed 
With  such  sweet,  hypnotic  power, 

The  lines  of  care  and  grief  has  traced 
And  wrinkled,  like  a  withered  flower, 


The  dark  brown  locks  you  loved  so  well, 
Now  interspersed  with  silver  thread, 

Shows  plainly  that  the  march  of  time 
Has  left  its  footprints  on  my  head. 


The  deep  gray  eyes  that  once  could  flash 
With  passion's  fire,  or  melt  in  love, 

Have  lost  the  wanted  fires  of  youth, 
Like  some  poor  offcast,  Iimps3'  glove. 


Yet  in  my  breast  there  beats  a  heart 
That  never  will  nor  can  grow  old: 

Thy  image  keeps  its  pulses  warm 
With  love  that  never  shall  grow  cold. 


Thy  grace  and  beauty  won  that  heart 
Long  years  ago,  when  thou  wert  3*011  ng: 

Thy  gentle,  generous,  faithful  care 
Has  bred  a  love  I  cannot  tongue. 


can  grant  no  sweeter  bliss, 
To  crown  the  evening  of  my  life, 
Than  lulu's  sweet,  enraptured  kiss, 
When  time  restores  me  to  my  wife. 


PRISON    POETRY. 

Our  OF  THE  DEPTHS. 


BY    GEO.   W.    H.    HARRISON. 


In  a  cell  of  rock  and  iron, 
Where  remorse  and  shame  environ, 
Sat  a  convict  sadly  dreaming- — 
Dreaming-  of  the  days  of  yore. 
Dreamed  he  of  a  land  of  flowers 
Where,  amid  Love's  smiling-  bowers, 
He  had  spent  such  happy  hours, 
To  memory  ne'er  so  sweet  before. 
And  he  softly,  fondly  questioned: 

"•  Shall  I  know  such  bliss  once  more  ? '" 

Hope  made  answer,  "  Yes,  once  mon- !  " 
In  a  home  which  love  had  founded, 
Now  by  grief  and  care  surrounded, 
Sat  a  wife  and  mother,  weeping-, 

Weeping-  for  her  prisoned  swain. 
Wept  she  o'er  fate's  mad  endeavor, 
That  such  loving-  hearts  could  sever, 
With  a  blow,  that  seemed  to  never 
Lose  its  ag-onizing  pain; 
And  her  cry  arose  to  heaven: 

"  Father,  shall  we  meet  ag-ain  ?  " 

Mercy  answered,  "  Once  again." 
Ope  those  doors  of  latticed  iron, 
Lift  the  clouds  that  now  environ; 
Faithfulness  shall  be  rewarded — 

Love  the  victory  hath  won. 
Learn  that  I,  ,your  God,  am  heeding 
Prayers  that  rise  from  hearts  now  bleeding-. 
And  my  hand  is  ever  leading-, 

Tho'  the  clouds  obscure  the  sun. 
Hows  my  heart  in  adoration — 

Shall  my  lips  repeat  Amen  ? 

Hope  and  faith  repeat!     "Amen." 


PRISON     POETRY. 


ELLA  REE'S  REVENGE. 


Beside  Saluda's  silver  stream, 
Where  flowers  nod  and  poets  dream. 
A  cabin  stood,  in  days  gone  by, 
Whose  historv  should  never  die. 


Here  lived  and  led  a  blameless  life, 
Brave  Hayward  and  his  peerless  wife. 
With  three  sweet  pledges  of  that  love, 
Cradled  on  earth,  but  born  above. 


Surrounding-  them,  on  every  hand, 
Was  the  Red  man's  native  land. 
No  paleface,  save  themselves,  ever  dared 
To  live  in  wild  these  Indians  shared. 


Treacherous  alike  in  peace  and  war, 
The  Seminole  obeyed  no  law 
Save  one  he  spake  with  bated  breath: 
*'  Traitors  shall  die  a  coward's  death'!' 


The  haughty  chief  who  led  this  tribe, 
Fear  could  not  daunt  nor  favor  bribe; 
And  this  lone  settler,  living  here, 
Knew  white  man  never  dared  come  near.. 


He  Caucanoe's  heart  had  won 

By  a  kindness  nobly  done, 

In  rescuing  from  a  watery  grave 

The  favorite  child  of  this  fierce  brave. 


A  frail  canoe — swamped  in  mid  stream: 
A  father's  cry — a  maiden's  scream  : 
A  hunter  bearing  a  maid  ashore, 
A  volume  writ  would  tell  no  more.. 


172 


PRISON     POETRY. 

"The  land  beside  this  murmuring"  stream 
Thy  future  home,  brave  paleface,  deem, 
And  on  Caucanoe's  word  depend, 
Xo  Indian  dares  molest  mv  friend  !  "" 


"  Yours  "t  was  to  save  Caucanoe's  pride. 
Mine  be  it  to  protect  jrour  bride; 
If  here  a  future  you  would  seek, 
I  listen:     Let  my  brother  speak.'' 


"  Great  Chief!  your  words,  so  kind  and  true. 

Fall  on  my  ears  like  evening-  dew; 

Ere  the  buds  beg-in  to  swell 

Your  brother  'mid  your  tribe  shall  dwell." 


So  Hay  ward  built,  with  eager  haste. 
As  best  befits  a  woman's  taste, 
A  cabin  palace,  reared  by  art, 
Each  room  as  secret  as  3rour  heart. 

Here  they  lived  and  tilled  the  g-round, 
The  happiest  pair  for  miles  around; 
The  Indians  swarmed  around  their  door 
With  useful  g-ifts  to  swell  their  store. 


Caucanoe  often  sought  their  door 
And  played  with  the  children,  o'er  and  o'er. 
He  brought  them  many  a  curious  toy, 
Their  happy  childhood  to  employ. 


The  winsome  sprite,  who  sat  on  his  knee. 
Pleased  him  most  of  the  guileless  three: 
Her  limped  eyes  and  golden  hair 
Caucanoe  thought  divinely  fair. 


As  the  happy  years  flew  swiftly  by, 
Beneath  Caucanoe's  watchful  eye. 


PRISON    POETRY, 

Paralee  grew,  with  rapid  pace, 
Into  a  maid  of  faultless  grace. 


Caucanoe  loved  this  lovely  child 
With  a  passion  fierce,  and  deep,  and  wild, 
Yet  hopeless,  he  feared,  that  love  would  be, 
Since  naught  could  bridge  the  rag-ing-  sea 


Of  racial  and  tribal  pride, 
That  lay  between  them,  deep  and  wide; 
And  well  he  knew  another's  soul 
Brooked  naught  on  earth  save  his  control. 


King  Ulca's  daughter,  the  proud  Ella  Ree, 
Graceful  and  lithe  as  a  willow  tree, 
With  eyes  and  hair  like  the  raven's  wing, 
And  voice  as  soft  as  the  babbling  spring, 


Had  sought  him  for  her  wigwam  brave, 
Weeping  o'er  his  late  wife's  grave; 
And  well  he  knew  the  tears  she  shed, 
By  tribal  law  their  bodies  wed. 


True  love  for  her  he  could  not  feel, 
Yet  such  a  fact  dared  not  reveal; 
His  squaw  she  was  alone  in  name 
And  never  to  his  wigwam  came. 


Another  love,  oh,  fateful  thought! 
With  direful  misery  doubly  fraught, 
Surged  and  tossed  within  his  soul 
Until  it  spurned  his  late  control. 


At  last  he  sought  her  much  loved  side 
And  begged  her  to  become  his  bride. 
The  maiden  heard  and  laughed  outright, 
And  thus  let  loose  the  fiends  of  night 


174 


PRISON    POETRY. 

That  of  late  had  lain  at  rest 
Within  Caucanoe's  savage  breast. 
Now,  naught  could  sta3~  this  rising-  ire 
Save  to  light  the  Council  Fire. 


At  last  among-  his  braves  he  stood, 

Ivike  some  monarch  of  the  wood; 

While  burning-  words  flowed  from  his  tongue. 

That  showed  how  deep  his  heart  was  wrung. 


The  Council  heard  and  thus  decreed: 
"  Our  land  from  paleface  dog's  be  freed. 
Tomorrow  night  the  proud  paleface 
Shall  rue  Caucanoe's  late  disgrace!  " 


"  'T  is  well,"  the  haug-hty  chief  replied: 
"  Who  scorns  to  be  Caucanoe's  bride 
Shall  feel  a  living-  flame  of  fire 
Quench  the  last  spark  of  life's  desire!  " 


But,  ere  the  morrow's  sun  had  set, 
Awakening-  love  brought  deep  regret. 
Love  foug-ht  the  savage  till  he  fell, 
And  Pity's  tears  began  to  well. 


He  crept  the  cabin  light  within, 

And  there  confessed  his  double  sin. 

"•  'T  is  done,"  he  cried,  "you  shall  not  die: 

The  boat  is  ready;  up,  and  fly! 


"  Saluda's  stream  shall  guide  you  right. 
Caucanoe  lays  to  die  tonight! 
Once  3Tou  are  free,  I  die  content, 
Nor  deem  the  blow  untimely  sent." 


The  boat  has  left  the  silent  shore, 
And  Hay  ward  tugs  at  the  muffled  oar: 


PRISON    POETRY. 

The  craft  sweeps  on,  like  a  thing-  of  life, 
Impelled  by  the  prayers  of  a  weeping1  wife. 


Caucanoe  stood  on  the  bank  hard  by, 
With  heaving-  breast  and  tear-dimmed  eye, 
That  proved  a  hero's  soul  could  rest 
In  the  natural  dome  of  a  savage  breast. 


The  flashing-  oars  in  the  moonlight  pale 
(live  forth  no  sound  and  leave  no  trail; 
Naught  is  heard  save  the  breath 
Of  the  fleeing-  ones  in  their  race  with  death. 


Hark !     What  means  that  frightful  yell  ? 
'T  is  a  cry  of  triumph,  born  of  hell; 
Their  savag-e  foe,  long-  under  way, 
At  last  have  seen  their  wanted  prey. 


They  see  the  foe  and  wildly  fly 

The  flashing-  oars,  till  the3r  almost  fly; 

"  We  '11  yet  be  saved,"  brave  Hay  ward  spoke, 

But  his  oars  shivered  beneath  his  stroke. 


He  sprang-  to  his  feet,  with  ashen  face, 

And  his  trusty  rifle  flew  to  its  place; 

A  maddening-  yell  from  the  savag-e  crew 

Proved  the  ball  to  the  mark  had  straightway  flew. 


Six  times  his  trusty  rifle  spoke; 
Each  time  an  Indian  skull  it  broke. 
His  gallant  sons  stood  near  their  sire 
And  reinforced  his  deadly  fire! 


Their  doom  was  sealed.    The  savage  horde 
Soon  reached  their  bark  and  sprang  aboard 
Yet  scorned  they  even  then  to  3rield, 
While  strength  was  left  a  knife  to  wield. 


175 


176  PRISON     POETRY. 

Each  one  dared  a  hero's  part: 
Each  knife  it  sought  a  savage  heart, 
Nor  did  the)-  cease  to  bathe  in  gore 
Till  thev  sank  beneath  to  rise  no  more- 


Paralee  and  her  mother  lay 
To  savage  hands  an  earl)-  prey; 
For  neither  knew,  nor  felt  they  ought, 
Of  what  they  did  or  what  they  sought. 


Since  terror  and  alarm,  too  deep. 
Had  locked  their  senses  all  in  sleep. 
Alas!  that  they  should  ever  wake: 
Returning  senses  meant  the  stake. 


Soon  homeward  with  the  living  dead 
The  savage  horde  in  triumph  sped : 
And  bore  to  haunts  of  Ella  Ree 
The  paleface  foe  she  longed  to  see. 


Better  for  Paralee  had  she  died 
Amid  the  battle's  raging  tide. 
"  Not  wounded  tigress  in  her  lair 
More  dangerous  than  a  jealous  fair!  " 


Assembled  around  the  Council  Fire, 
With  haughtj-  mien  and  rising  ire. 
Each  chief  was  ready  to  relate 
His  own  exploit  or  vent  his  hate. 


Safel)-  bound  by  cruel  thong. 
In  the  center  of  the  throng, 
The  captives  sat  in  silent  dread, 
Envying  none  except  the  dead. 


•'  Brothers!  the  paleface  Ella  Ree, 
Whose  words  from  guile  are  always  free. 


PRISON     POETRY. 

Will  tell  you  all  you  need  to  know. 

Who  scorns  lier  words  must  brave  mv  blow! 


Thus  Ulca  spake,  then  glared  around 
With  a  mighty  monarch's  haug-hty  frown. 
"That  held  his  hearers  more  in  awe 
Of  his  dread  prowess  than  his  law." 


**  Chief!     Warriors!     Braves  in  battle  tried. 
Your  blood  Saluda's  stream  has  dyed: 
Your  brothers  sleep  no  more  to  wake! 
Will  vmt  sit  by  nor  vengeance  take?" 


"A  traitor  warned  the  doomed  paleface: 
Shall  he  yet  live  to  brave  our  race? 
How  the  white  lily  wrought  the  spell, 
Uaucanoe,  and  not  I,  must  tell!  " 


*' Caucanoo.  does  not  fear  to  die! 
"T  was  he  that  bade  the  paleface  fly: 
Let  these  wo  in  en  now  be  set  free; 
Vent  your  hate  alone  on  me." 


"Paralee  I  loved,  and  her  alone: 
Mine  was  the  fault — let  me  atone. 
Ella  Ree,  herself,  shall  lig-ht  the  tire 
And  chant  around  my  funeral  pyre." 


"  Loose  the  captive!     Raise  the  stake! 
It  shall  be  thus,"  brave.  Ulca  spake. 
'"  If  love  shall  brave  the  cruel  flame. 
Yon  captives  tro  from  whence  they  came 


In  haste  they  reared  the  ready  stake. 
And  bade  the  Chief  his  place  to  take. 
He  liyhtly  stepped  "in  proper  place, 
A  comjuerinjr  smile  upon  his  face. 


PRISON     POETRY. 

The  signal  g-iven — a  lighted  brand — 
Ella  Ree  raised  with  trembling-  hand. 
Yet  beg-g-ed  Caucanoe  not  to  die, 
But  to  her  willing-  arms  to  fly. 


Pardon  was  his,  both  full  and  free, 
As  the  proud  brave  of  Ella  Ree; 
The  hated  captives  should  atone 
For  all  blood  spilt,  and  they  alone! 


Caucanoe  frowned  and  thus  replied 
"If  Ella  Ree  would  be  my  bride, 
Let  her  light  the  fire  and  stand 
Here  beside  me.  hand  in  hand." 


Forward  she  sprang-— the  torch  applied. 
Even  in  death  a  happy  bride! 
Saluda's  stream  is  never  free 
From  the  dying-  chant  of  Ella  Ree! 


PRISON    POETRY. 
THE  MURDERER'S  DREAM. 


Ye  glittering-  stars!  how  fair  ye.  shine  tonig-ht. 

And,  oh,  thou  modest  moon!  thy  silvery  lig-ht 

Conies  streaming-  throug-h  these  iron  bars  before  me. 

How  clear  and  silent  is  this  lovely  nig-ht! 

How  quiet  and  how  brig-ht! 

I  nothing-  hear,  nor  aug-ht  can  hear 

Me  when  I  speak,  but  stone  and  iron  that  I  fear: 

I,  shunned  by  all,  as  if  alone  I  'd  g-o  to  Hell; 

I,  alone  in  chains!     Ah,  me,  the  cruel  spell 

That  broug-ht  me  here.     Heaven  could  not  cheer  me 

Within  these  cursed  walls — within  this  dark  and  dreary  cell 

This  g-loomy,  cold,  and  solitary  Hell. 


And  thou,  O  Time!  the  only  thing-  that's  not  my  for 
O  Time!     O  Time!  thou  passeth  on  so  slow. 
Keeping-  my  soul  in  terror,  in  bondag-e,  and  in  woe: 
\Vas  I  to  blame?    I  was,  they  say;   they  say  't  is  so. 
<  Hi.  (iod  !  will  this  deep  crimson,  aye,  black  stain 
My  nervous  system  always  strain! 
Will  my  foul  crime  forever  haunt  my  brain  ? 
Must  I  live  here  in  earthly  fear,  and  never,  never  hear 
The  sweetest  voice  to  me  of  all,  I  've  heard  not  for  a  year  ? 
Must  I  this  torture  feel,  year  after  year? 
Live,  die  in  Hell,  and  yet  a  Paradise  so  near  ? 

Will  Thou,  Oh,  God!  wilt  Thou  not  hear?    "T  is  I,  "i  is  I  they  all 
do  fear. 


Am  I  to  Thee,  O  Christ,  as  dead  ?    Thou  who  sought 
The  lonely  prisoner  in  his  dismal  cell,  and  to  him  laug-ht 
Thr  true  and  only  law  to  govern  man — Thy  love, 
Which  can  be  only  reached  by  prayer  to  Thee  above  ? 
In  this  cold  and  darkened  cell,  dost  Thou  reprove 
My  soul?    Dost  Thou  doom  it  to  endless  misery  ? 
Am  I  so  wicked,  sinful,  that  I  cannot  move 
Thy  loving-  kindness,  to  a  slight  reprove? 
Ah,  me,  ah,  me,  't  is  love  Thou  sayest— love. 
Canst  I  at  this  late  day  by  full  repentence  see 
The  divine,  the  holy,  ever  cleansing-  love  in  Thee  / 
Canst  Thou  be  Christ  and  have  no  love  for  me  ? 


I(S0  PRISON     POETRY. 

\Vhat,  can  it  be  that  I  am  lost  and  "11  never  know  thy  bliss? 

And  for  my  cruel,  wicked  crime  no  joy  above  all  this? 

What,  world  of  sin!     What,  never?    Is  my  destiny  Hell  ? 

Is  that  my  cruel  sentence  because  in  sin  I  fell  ? 

Aye,  I  did  fall!     Into  that  dark  and  fathomless  pit, 

And  now  in  Hell  my  soul  has  fell,  and  for  Hell  it  is  not  lit: 

Into  that  misery  eternal,  where  nothing"  lives  but  all  "s  infernal 

Is  there  my  future— is  it  there? 

My  thoughts  they  burn  my  head,  my  heart  't  was,  ah,  'twas  dead 

lint  now  it  lives,  and  in  my  breast  does  burn: 

Those  pains,  and,  severe  as  they  were,  they  flew,  yes,  flew  away 

And  be  in. if  absent  for  awhile,  remorse  came  in  by  day. 


Oh.  God.  Oh,  (;<)(!.  I  am  not  lit  for  this  infernal  Hell! 

Oh,  mercy,  mercy!   my  destiny,  "t  is  here  that  I  must  dwell. 

Away!   away!  ye  fiery  fiends,  I  am  among  you  now. 

0  Christ,  O  Savior  of  the  sinner!     To  Satan  must  I  bow? 
Pray,  take  me  back  to  earth  ag-ain,  and  test  me  one  and  all, 
And  let  me  live  anew  my  life  and  see  if  I  will  fall. 

Test  me,  test  me  once  again,  let  me  hear  the  old  church  bell, 
'Cause  now  I  *m  so  much  steeped  in  sin  that  I  "m  not  fit  for  Hell. 
Oh,  horrors!  horrors!  hear  the  groans  of  tortured  victims  there. 
Some  yoim.tr,  and  many  are  quite  old,  I  know  it  by  their  hair! 
1*001'.  poor,  poor    wretches,  see   them   there,  all  bleeding-  and   in 
chains; 

1  know  they  reali/.e  their  fate,  because  they  all  have  brains. 


Is  this  the  horrid,  horrid  place  my  mother  taug-ht  was  Hell  ? 
Oh.  see  those  brutal  fiery  fiends,  they  call  them  "  Imps  "  you  know. 
And  many  an  one  has  feared  them  here,  because  of  sin  he'd  sown. 
Just  see  the  demons  of  the  deep!     Just  hear  their  hellish  tones! 
Then  floating-  back  on  brimstone  air  comes  mocking,  mocking 

groans. 
See.  see  the  devils  how  they  dance,  with  brimstone  torches  how 

they  prance; 
What!  can  it  be  they  look  like  men  and  'stead  of  hearts  they  have 

but  sin 
And  grinning-  hang-  around  me?     Oh,  fearful,  fearful  fire  of  hell. 

what  can  it  be  within  ? 
They  sneer  and   stare  at  me!     (io  'way.  ye  devils  cooked   in    sin 

and  crime ! 


PRISON     POETRY.  I  Si 

I  'm  now  in  Purgatory  waiting-  for  the  time 

When  by  the  law  of  a  just  God  I  '11  be  removed  from  here, 

And  by  the  law  of  Christ  divine,  of  thee  I  '11  have  no  fear. 


Hark!     List!     From  yonder  corner  comes  loud  cries. 

Oh,  let  me  hold  my  aching1,  bursting-  head! 

They  come  from  some  poor  wretch  that  dies, 

And  many  an  one  may  mourn  him  now  as  dead. 

I  see  him!     I  see  him!     There  he  is!     My  murdered  victim  now 

Appears  before  me.     That  is  him!  and  to  him  I  must  bow. 

Oh,  his  cries,  his  groans,  ihey  haunt  me 

To  the  bottom  of  my  wicked  heart.     Can  it  be 

That  I  must  dwell  forever  in  this  wretched  misery  ? 

Horrors!     See  him  now  reach  out  his  bon3'  hand 

To  grasp  me  firmly  by  the  throat  and  hold  me  like  a  band. 

Take  me,  demons,  if  you  please,  take  me  into  Hell! 

Anything-  you  choose  may  do — remove  me  from  this  cell ! 


My  soul,  my  soul,  awake!  awake!     They  come!  they  come! 

The  devil's  come  to  take— Old  Satan,  I  am  thine! 

Away  my  soul  will  ever  roll  through  torturing-,  scorching-  Hell, 

And  down  into  the  blackest  depths  my  soul  is  cast  pell-mell. 

Oh,  what  a  fate  for  man  to  meet — speak,  Satan !  speak,  I  say! 

And  with  your  torturing-,  devilish  deeds— my  ruin!  no  delay! 

What  dumb!     Old  Satan,  canst  thou  speak?    Look  here 

And  speak  thy  want!     I  'm  now  rig-ht  crisp  and  hard  in  sin  and 

haven't  any  fear. 

Take  me,  demons!     Take  me,  quick!     I  hear  the  awful  knell 
Of  the  roaring-,  moaning-  billows,  and  the  bitterness  of  Hell. 
Take  me,  Satan,  take  me!  as  my  fate  is  firmly  sealed, 
While  ye  in  Hades  do  wake  me,  and  o'er  me  the  batoon  wield. 


What!     What!     Am  I  mistaken  ?    Was  it  only  but  a  dream  ? 
I,  still  living-  here  on  earth— oh,  how  real  it  all  did  seem. 
Could  I  now  just  one  chance  have  and  in  mercy  be  forgiven, 
I  would  have  respect  for  all  and  send  prayers  rig-ht  up  to  heaven. 
When  on  earth  Christ  did  come  to  save  sinners  from  their  fate, 
Any  time  they  'd  turn  to  Him  they  'd  find  't  was  not  too  late. 
Holy  Savior,  heavenly  dove,  Thou  who  reigns  supreme  above! 
Though  in  sin  I  have  been  dead,  I  am  saved  just  by  Thy  love. 


182 


PRISON     POETRY- 


Could  I  only  have  jrood  sifjrht,  that  I  could  see  my  sad  plight. 
I  would  always  to  Thee  cliiifjr,  and  to  Thee  cliny  with  my  mi,trht. 
Now,  to  Thee  let  me  grive  thanks,  'cause  't  was  only  a  bad  dream. 
But  its  horrors  to  me  clinjr.  'cause  so  real  it  all  did  seem. 


PRISON     POETRY. 

ACROSTIC    TRIBUTE    TO 

GOD'S    MESSENGERS. 
CHAPLAIN    AND    MRS.    C.    L.    WINGET. 


1*3 


l^yprian,  the  father  of  the  orators'  plan,  a  preacher,  a  priest  and 

godly  man; 
J(  ou  have  been,  by  the  good  Lord  sent,  on  the  mission  your  heart 

is  ever  bent, 
passed  through  trials  of  life  severe,  God  was  good  when  He  sent 

you  here, 
.if/ight  in  the  midst  of  a  sweltering-  gang  of  sinners,  corrupt  on 

every  hand. 
J ,  for  one,  have  watched  you  keen,  and  from  you  haven't  an  evil 

deed  seen; 
J;ill  has  been  so  easy  to  see  that  3"our  whole  soul 's  bent  on  setting 

us  free — 

from  earthly,  bodily  pains,  but  from  our  evil,  and  sin,  and 

shame! 


,iiee  was  the  second  choice  of  name,  she  christened  her  son  for 

Heavenly  fame, 
jlacli  and  every  da>r  she  taught  him  ever  sin  to  brave,  till  dear 

mother  she  went  down  into  an  early  grave. 
J.iverv  day  and  every  hour  he  tries  to  keep  that  august  dower. 

and  meet  her  where  there  's  endless  time,  in  Heaven's  pure 

and  holy  clime. 


>y  inget  came  unto  this  place  to  save  poor  sinners  by  God's  own 

grace; 
\\\  eloquence  and  heartfelt  plea  he  's  prayed  for  us  on   bended 

knee; 
,J)lor  has  his  pleading  been  in  vain,  because  from  us  he  's  driven 

pain. 
"  liod  help  the  prisoner!  "  is  his  prayer,  while  lingering  in  this 

prison  lair; 
'"  ^ternal  justice  may  they  have  while  life's  hard  struggle  they 

do  brave!" 
"  'An  God  be  praise!  we  see  His  face.     God  save  the  prisoner  by 

Thy  grace !  " 


184  PRISON     POETRY. 

jLiusan,  his  wife  and  better  half,  and  one  of  God's  own  kind. 

llpon  each  bright  and  sabbath  morn  she  helps  the  text  to  find. 
.7 

xihe  's  ever  there,  in  the  arm  chair,  through  service  and  through 
song-, 

with  kindlj-   smile  she  does  beg-uile  the  prisoners  from  all 
wrong-. 

y — let  us  bow  unto  you  now,  thou  noble,  holy  one,  and  may 
God  speed  for  all  3'our  need  for  the  g-ood  that  you  have 
done. 


ry  is  an  ancient  name,  to  you  it  has  been  g*iven: 

down  deep  in   your  friendU-   heart   is  found   the  truth  of 
Heaven 
Xach  of  us  prisoners  here  confined  for  truth  will  e'er  contend; 

iio.  search  each  heart!  and  then  report  if  truth  we  '11  not  defend. 
JJmvard,  onward,  upward,  upw-ard  may  your  labors  ever  roll: 
Pleach  out  for  poor  fallen  sinner,  and  3-our  work  we  '11  all  extol: 
J(  et  't  is  not  too  late  to  labor— God  will  answer,  "Aye,  extol !  " 


U' air-child"  of  Heaven's  august  plan,  how  comest  thou  to  wed 
3'ourself  to  Man  ? 

ji  name  is  nothing-  but  to  desig-nate,  but.  Oh — how  often  it  does 
consecrate 

In  lang-uag-e  pure  and  clear  as  diamond  scale,  while  thou.  Fair- 
child,  we,  every  one,  do  hail! 

j^i-al  sympathy  is  not  so  strong-  a  band  as  binds  fair  woman  unto 
haug"ht3'  man ! 

Lome,  hasten !  now  thy  work  be  done, 'cause  life's  short  race  is 
almost  run ! 

Jie  whom  thou  wed  so  main-  years  ag-o  has  been  God's  servant 
faithfully  to  do 

J  11  words  so  full  of  just  and  holy  writ,  that  in  our  chapel  we  do 
love  to  sit. 

jLove  for  \-our  dut\-,  kind  to  all  3*ou  meet,  faithful  to  3'our  Mas- 
ter's cause  and  a  smile  for  all  3Tou  greet. 

jjo  by  us  as  you  have  done  and  never  do  complain,  because  the 
work  that  3*ou  have  done  has  not  been  done  in  vain ! 


ing-et  *'  is  the  name  3'ou  chose  to  support  the  once  Fair-child. 


PRISON     POETRY.  I(S^ 

i.n  Christian  mission  go  forth  (lod's  castles  for  to  build: 
Jlt'YiT  forget  the  prisoner  close  locked  in  dung-eon  cell, 
iio  forth  and  teach  to  him  The  Life  of  the  soul  YOU  love  so  well, 
.iiach  hour  you  spend  in  Christian  work  is  never  thrown  away. 
Uhe  Truth  is  known!  you  Ml    harvests   reap   in   Heaven's   golden 
day! 


THE  MIND  is   THE   STANDARD  or  THE  MAN. 


In  chains  and  shackles  closely  bound; 

They  say  I  am  a  prisoner; 
Although  in  this  small  cell  I  'm  found, 

A  prisoner  I  am  not. 
The  door  is  made  of  iron  bars. 

The  lock  is  large  and  strong-. 
Hut  ni3"  mind  soars  free,  up  to  the  stars, 

As  if  I  'd  done  no  wrong-. 
The  mind  of  man  is  ever  free, 

By  nature's  law  itself, 
While  this  wicked,  wretched  corpus 

May  be  laid  upon  the  shelf. 
What  of  this  wretched  body  '.' 

What  care  we  for  this  hand  '* 
Jiut  there  's  one  thing-  safe  to  wager  on, 
'•THAT  MIND'S  Tin-:  STANDARD  OF  TIIK  MAX." 


They  may  chain  me  fast  unto  the  rock, 

And  bind  both  hands  and  feet; 
The}-  may  keep  me  far  off  in  the  dark, 

Where  friends  1  cannot  meet; 
They  may  call  me  vile  and  wicked  wretch, 

And  murderer  and  thief; 
They  may  sa}-  I  am  an  infidel 

And  steeped  in  unbelief; 
They  may  say  I  'm  false  and  awful  bad, 

And  lend  not  a  helping-  hand: 
They  maj'  sow  the  seed  North,  East,  South,  West. 

Far,  far  throug-hout  the  land; 
They  may  g-o  right  on  with  falsity 


lS6  PRISON     POETRY. 


And  it  publish  like  a  ban. 
But  there  's  one  thing-  safe  to  wager  on, 
••THAT  .MIND'S  THE  STANDARD  OF  THK  MAN. 


If  the  mind  was  easy  to  be  read. 

And  another  for  to  see, 
There  would  prisoner  after  prisoner 

Im mediately  be  set  free. 
If  conscience  was  as  easy  known 

As  another's  words  to  hear, 
There  would  not  be  half  so  many  men 

That  society  would  fear. 
I  Jut  what  do  people  think  or  care 

What  "s  in  another's  brain. 
So  long  as  they  can  all  conceal 

Tin1  evil  in  ////•//•  frame. 
There  are  a  few  who  secretly 

Do  not  conceal  their  sham. 
Hut  there  's  one  thing-  safe  to  wager  on, 
••THAT  MIND'S  THK  STANDARD  OF  THK   MAN. 


It  every  one  was  now  compelled 

To  show  life  in  true  attire. 
They  *d  cause  the  picture  to  be  marred 

And  cast  into  the  fire. 
They  "d  blush  with  shame  to  bring-  to  light 

Black  spots  upon  their  life; 
They  kick,  and  squirm,  and  twist  about, 

And  fight  it  with  a  strife. 
Where  is  the  man  on  this  vile  earth 

But  what  has  done  some  wrong-, 
And  in  his  mind  's  concealed  it, 

Tho'  it  stings  him  like  a  thong? 
There  ne'er  was  one  except  the  Christ 

Who  'd  be  perfect  in  the  land! 
But  there's  one  thing  safe  to  wager  on, 
'•THAT  MIND'S  THK  STANDARD  OF  THK  MAN. 


What  if  all  conscience  could  be  searched 
Clear  through  with  cathode  rays, 

ilow  many  would  cheerfully  submit. 


PRISON     POETRY. 

Who  "d  reached  their  manhood  days? 
It  might  not  be  the  blackest  crime 

Known  to  the  criminal  code. 
But  can  it  be  sufficiently  white 

To  call  it  very  good  'i 
It  may  not  be  so  good  nor  bad. 

Nor  bad  nor  good  indeed, 
But  is  it  plenty  good  enough 

As  a  standard  for  a  creed  ? 
You  may  keep  it  hid  in  an  air-tight  box, 

With  psychological  band, 
Then,  you  see,  'tis  safe  to  wager 

"•THAT  MIND'S  THK  STANDARD  OK  THK  MAN. 


So  long  as  minds  cannot  be  seen 

And  pictured  to  the  folk, 
So  long  there  '11  be  deceitful  ness 

Played  by  the  earthly  crook. 
The  modern  shy  lock  now,  who  craves 

The  sentence  of  the  court. 
Is  just  the  man  who,  many  times. 

Society  he  has  hurt. 
He  stands  aloof  from  other  folk, 

And  cries  with  a  loud  voice: 
**  Down,  down,  with  evil  and  all  crime! 

Arise,  my  friends,  rejoice!  " 
But  turn  on  him  the  cathode  rays 

And  search  him,  if  you  can, 
You  "11  be  convinced,  be}rond  a  doubt, 

"•THAT   MIND  's  THK  STANDAKD  OK  TIN-:  MAN. 


Tin- re  's  many  a  man  who  "s  been  misjudged., 

And  nift  his  doom  and  fate; 
And  the  truth  thereof  could  ne'er  be  learned 

Until  it  was  too  late. 
If  cathode  rays  could  have  been  used. 

And  falsehood  put  to  flight, 
'There  's  many  a  false  and  trumped  up  charge 

Would  be  knocked  clear  out  of  sight. 
If  the  mind  of  man  could  only  be. 

With  this  mysterious  light. 
Just  brought  out  plain  on  canvas. 


jSS  PRISON     POETRY. 

In  colors  clear  and  bright. 
It  would  spread  the  truth  both  far  and  near. 

Just  like  a  marriage  ban, 
That  the  rule  ordained  by  nature  is 
"•THAT  MIND'S  THE  STANDARD  OF  THK  MAN 


Now,  when  with  cathode  ra\-s  supplied. 

You  start  out  for  a  search. 
Just  drop  around  some  Sabbath  morn 

And  peep  into  a  church. 
If  one  bald  deacon,  on  his  breast. 

Wears  a  diamond  bright  and  clear, 
Just  shoot  cathode  across  his  pate 

And  see  what  "s  buried  there. 
Then  up  into  the  pulpit, 

\Vhere  the  priest  all  devils  dare. 
And  dart  the  rays  around,  about. 

And  see  what  's  buried  there. 
Then  to  the  courtroom  wend  your  way. 

To  where  the  j  ml  .yes  ran. 
Then  bet  your  bottom  dollar 

"THAT     MIND'S    THK    STANDARD    OF    THK    MAN, 


Then  down  into  our  Congress  halls 

Make  a  dash  both  bold  and  free. 
And  shoot  cathode  ri.trht  through  them  all 

And  see  what  you  can  see. 
Then  back  into  the  halls  of  State, 

And  catch  them,  one  and  all. 
And  learn  yourself,  beyond  a  doubt. 

How  many  are  there  to  fall. 
Don't  be  surprised  if  now  you  find 

Most  foul  and  blackened  crimes. 
Because  they  "re  plotting  for  the  yold. 

No  matter  what  the  times. 
Try  and  discover,  then  and  there. 

The  .arold  bonds,  if  you  can. 
And  remember,  what  is  true  as  truth, 
••THAT  MIND'S  THK  STANDARD  OF  THK  MAN.' 


Then,  when  you  *re  done  with  the  outside  world, 
And  all  of  Congress  halls. 


PRISON     POETRY. 

Return  to  me  and  take  a  walk- 
Within  these  dismal  walls. 

I  '11  show  you  men  who  represent 
Each  county  in  this  State; 

They  're  all  accused  of  crime,  you  know, 
And  sentenced  to  their  fate. 

But  don't  be  hast3'  now  to  judge 
These  men  you  see  about; 

Fire  cathode  rays  rig-lit  through  their  skulls 
And  3*ou  may  find  a  doubt. 

Courts,  lawyers  and  prejudiced  jurors 
Will  con-vict  if  they  can, 

But  there  "s  one  thing  safe  to  wager  on, 

••THAT  MIND'S  THK  STANDARD  OK  Tin:  MAN. 


In  here  you  '11  find  there  's  ma  113*  a  mind 

As  free  from  sin  and  crime 
As  congressmen  and  senators 

Who  've  been  there  a  long  time. 
Some  of  these  men  in  here,  you  see, 

They  got  a  little  tight, 
And  broke  into  a  chicken  coop, 

In  cause  "t  was  in  the  night. 
Some  men  you  see  as  you  walk  with  me 

Down  through  these  halls  so  dreary. 
Have,  on  bended  knee,  pra3Ted  to  be  free 

Until  life  's  become  weary. 
They  have  no  11101103-,  neither  friends, 

Because  they  're  far  behind  the  van, 
Hut  still  "t  is  safe  to  wager 
"•THAT  MIND'S  Tin-:  STANDARD  OK    rin:   MAN, 


And  now  because  ni3r  enemies 

Have  chained  me  tight  and  fast, 
And  cruel,  heartless,  brutal  curs 

Would  hold  me  to  the  last- 
Look  here!     1  "11  freely^  now  submit, 

Turn  on  your  cathode  ra3's 
And  learn,  if  now  't  is  not  too  late, 

The  evil  of  ni3'  ways. 
Then  go  up  to  that  old  bribed   judge. 


1 9o 


PRISON     POETRY. 

And  prosecutor,  too, 
And  brin.tr  their  conscience  here  by  in  in*' 

And  search  all  through  and  through. 
Look  sharp!     And  now  compare  their  minds 

With  this  one,  if  you  can, 
And  then  apply  the  jrolden  rule. 
'•THAT   MIND'S  THE  STANDARD  OK  THK  MAN. 


Oh,  men  of  science!  if  you  can 

Km  ploy  the  cathode  rays 
To  lake  the  place  of  jurymen 

In  these  our  latter  days; 
Let  not  a  man  upon  the  bench 

To  judge  another's  fate. 
Until  to  cathode  lie  's  been  sent 

To  search  beneath  his  pate! 
If  then  j'ou  see  his  mind  is  free 

From  prejudice  and  crime, 
And  lie  '11  g-ive  us  all  fair  justice. 

Let  him  sit  there  all  the  time '. 
But  if,  upon  the  other  hand. 

lh>  won't,  althoug-h  he  can. 
Then  cut  him  out  with  the  golden  rule: 

MIND'S  TIIK  STANDARD  <>i    TIM;  MAN, 


How  can  you,  then,  a  prisoner  make. 

When  his  Mind  's  as  free  as  space? 
You  may  chain  his  feet,  and  hands,  and  neck. 

And  tig-htly  bind  his  face, 
Do  what  you  please,  and  as  you  please. 

You  cannot  help  but  see — 
That  man  is  man,  where  e'er  he  be. 

Because  his  mind  is  free! 
His  mind  may  roam  back  to  his  home. 

You  cannot  tie  it  down, 
And  folk  may  look,  and  scoff,  and  scowl, 

And  always  wear  a  frown. 
But  when  of  him  they  a  prisoner  make. 

The  mind  they  never  can, 
'Cause  God  ordained  the  Golden  Rule, 
-THAT  MIND'S  THK  STANDARD  OF  THK  MAN." 


PRISON   POETRY. 
CELL  THOUGHTS. 


I!V    (,KO.    W.    H.    HARRISON. 


In  the  headlong-  rush  for  the  Land  of  Fame 

How  many  are  wrecked  on  the  Isle  of  Shame. 

How  few  heads  wear  a  glittering1  crown 

In  the  far-away  realm  of  great  renown. 

^Mid  the  crowded  ranks  of  the  leg-ion  of  greed 

How  manv  are  crushed  "iieath  the  wheels  of  need! 


How  few  ever  feel  the  dainty  caress 

Of  the  lingering-  hand  of  great  success! 

In  the  mad  pursuit  of  the  g-od  of  gold 

What  brains  are  wrecked,  what  hearts  g-row  cold  ! 

How  many  will  spend  their  latest  day 

'Mid  the  hurtling-  waters  of  Poverty  Bay! 


How  many  are  lured  by  a  siren  chime 
To  a  double  death  in  the  land  of  Crime! 
How  few  escape,  unscarred,  within 
The  winding-  walks  of  the  maze  of  sin! 
How  many  that  towered  above  the  stars 
Now  pine  and  languish  behind  the  bars! 


What  a  trail  of  woe  a  sing-le  mistake 
Across  the  pag-e  of  a  life  can  make! 
O,  shipwrecked  sailor,  fix  your  eye 
On  the  Star  of  Hope  in  yonder  sky; 
Mercy's  hand  will  bring-  release 
And  safelv  lead  to  the  Land  of  Peace 


192 


PRISON     POETRY. 


THE   AUTHOR'S    FAREWELL. 


(ientle  reader,  this  small  volume  clearly  proves  that  modern  man 
Can  control  his  erring-  brothers  with  a  clear  enlightened  plan. 
Ne'er  till  now  have  prison  printers  voiced,  unchanged,  a  convict's 

tho't! 

Is  the  change  with  retrogression  or  with  onward  progress  fraught? 
Will  this  volume  change  3'our  custom  or  relieve  our  horrid  pain  '.' 
Or  shall   truth   be  crushed  and   bleeding-,  ever  bound    in   prison 

chain? 

Will  3'ou  cast  your  glances  backward,  gathering-  agv  along  by  ag-e. 
Proof  that  man  is  wholly  brutal  when  controlled  by  maddening- 

rag-e  ? 
View  the  pen  of  downy  feathers,  where  men  choked  and  choked 

to  death, 

Without  power  to  ask  for  pardon  with  their  last  expiring-  breath  ! 
See  your  brother  in  that  river,  safel\-  chained  to  yonder  rock. 
While  his  thirst  is  wildK  rag-ing-  and  the  waves  his  tortures  mock  ! 
See  yon  dung-eon,  dark  and  dreary,  built  by  human  art  and  skill. 
Whose  dread  mission  is  to  madden  aii3"  one  the  laic  says  kill! 
Visit  to  the  hapless  culprit,  as  in  Pag-an  jail  he  lies; 
See  the    jailer  pass  the  hemlock,  which   he  quaffs,  and  then   he 

dies! 

Think  of  club,  of  sword  and  pistol,  of  the  bloody  g-uillotine: 
Of  the  whipcord,  knout  and  gallows  of  the  noted  Wolverine: 
Of  starvation,  rack  and  torture,  of  the  lash  and  fiery  stake. 
And  then  tell  me  frankU',  reader,  did    these  wrong's  one  virtue 

wake  ? 


Tell  me  frankly,  honest  reader,  can  two  wrongs  create  a  right? 
And  is  man's  inhuman  conduct  pleasing  in  Jehovah's  sight? 
Or  do  pitying  angels  shudder,  as  the  cruel  lash  you  ply, 
Wondering  man  can  be  so  brutal  and  the  laws  of  God  defy  ? 
Does  not  conscience  loudly  thunder:  "  Sin  is  but  the  fruit  of  hate. 
And  who  stones  a  helpless  brother  most  deserves  that  victim's 

fate? 

Can  abuse  and  brutal  treatment  purge  the  sinner  of  his  guilt? 
If  so,  come,  within  my  bosom  sheath  your  dagger  to  the  hilt! 
Strike,  till  every  erring  mortal  at  your  hands  has  met  his  fate. 
Then  sit  down  and  calmly  ponder  on  \-our  awful  lonely  state! 


PRISON     POETRY.  !95 

Yon,  perhaps,  have  been  quite  fault  less  ;  you,  perhaps,  no  u'r<»ig- 

have  done, 
If  "t  is  (me,  my  peerless  brother,  von  're  alone  beneath  the  SHH  ! 


Do  but  think !  we  once  were  spotless  as  the  babe  on  mother's  knee  ! 

Trace  the  causes  of  our  downfall  with  a  mind  from  malice  free. 

See,  on  every  licensed  corner,  fiends  incarnate  hourl}-  sell 

Fiery  waters  of  damnation,  that  create  a  living  hell ! 

Women,  once  as  pure  as  angels,  leading-  heartless  lives  of  shame; 

For  the  trumpery  of  fashion  dealing-  off  both  home  and  name! 

Hear  men  laud  the  wealthy  scoundrel  and  attempt  to  clear  his 
ways. 

While  the  poor  and  honest  toiler  none  with  pride  or  pleasure 
pays ! 

See  Religion  don  the  garments  of  all  worldly  pride  and  lust, 

While  the  Savior's  honest  followers  are  but  trampled  in  the  dust! 

See  the  press,  with  startling  headlines,  every  Vice  and  sin  por- 
tray 

That  can  sink  3-011  r  moral  standard  or  lead  innocence  astray! 

View  the  legions  of  temptation  strewn  along  the  path  of  youth, 

See  how  few  do  practice  virtue,  and  how  few  adore  the  truth! 

There!   the  cause  of  crime  is  patent,  and  our  downfall  yon  behold, 

To  condemn  it  in  a  sentence:     "  //  was  7i>onten,  7Cine  and  gu/d  !" 


If    you    read   this   book-   with    caution,  you    have   read   /v/rtvv;/   the 

lines, 

Learning  much  the  careless  reader  and  the  critic  ne'er  divines! 
You  have  seen  the  author's  purpose  was  to  tell  the  simple  truth. 
As  a  tribute  to  the  prisoner  and  a  warning-  to  our  youth. 
You  have  seen  mistakes  and  errors  that  less  haste  would  quickly 

mend, 

Yet,  with  all  its  imperfections,  it  may  prove  a  useful  friend. 
And  in  future  I  ma}-  publish  one  with  less  of  hasty  though! 
That  may  be— God  knows  the  future — with  undying-  issues  fraught. 
All   tried   means  have  proved  abortive  yet,  my  friend,  there  is  a 

plan 

That  li'ill  lift  each  erring  brother  to  the  standard  of  a  man  ! 
If  I  can  but  live  to  publish  what  I  know  and  long-  to  tell, 
You  r<v7/  read  it  and  believe  it;   so,  dear  reader,/^ ;Y'-//^'-7tv//.' 


194 


PRISON     POETRY. 


CONCLUSION, 


(•io,  little  book,  thy  destined  course  pursue  1 
Collect  memorials  of  the  just  and  true; 
And  beg"  of  every  one  who  comes  thou  near 
Some  token  of  their  friendship  and  <r<>od  cheer. 
And  if  by  chance  some  true  friends  thou  should  find. 
Attach  them  to  thee  with  both  soul  and  mind: 
And  if  they  prove  grood,  faithful  friends  and  true. 
To  them  thou  sticketh,  as  if  they  loved  you 

Adieu !     Adieu  ! 


